


For All the Marbles

by Veritas03



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slash, eighth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas03/pseuds/Veritas03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry receives a long-lost gift when he returns to Hogwarts to finish his last year of school. Draco could be just the person to help Harry understand the gift – if the two of them can learn to talk to each other. **Written for the 2010 hd_smoochfest at Live Journal based upon this: A tale that was not crack out of the somewhat crack prompt: “Harry lost his marbles and Draco helps him find them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All the Marbles

**Betas:** Mystressoxo and Sevfan

 **Author’s Notes:** This was written for the the hd_smoochfest at Live Journal. The theme for 2010 was Lost and Found. The prompt I worked with "Harry has lost him marbles and Draco helps him find them." I had a lot of fun with it. Hope you enjoy it!

 **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No Copyright infringement is intended.

 

****

For All The Marbles

_October 1, 1998_

_Potter,_

_You didn’t come back to Hogwarts, so I have to thank you in a letter instead of in person. I was ready to do it, you know. I would have stood before you and said ‘Thank you’ for everything you did for me and my family. I know I should have said it when you returned my wand – but I was still in shock. I had expected to be taken out of that courtroom in chains, straight to Azkaban. When you walked up and handed me my wand – well, I guess I was still trying to convince myself that it was all real. I hope you didn’t think I was ungrateful or didn’t appreciate what you had done. What I’m trying to say is this: I acknowledge that, without your testimony, things might have turned out very differently._  
I know you’ve already received a letter from my mother and father. I tried to write to you after the trial, but couldn’t seem to put the words together in a way that really expressed what I wanted to say. So, I decided to wait and tell you face to face when we returned to school. Then Weasley told everyone that you’d decided to stay in Australia and go to school there. I didn’t believe it, but I’ve waited a month and you still haven’t returned. I kept thinking that you’d change your mind and one day you’d just be here – at Hogwarts, where you’re supposed to be. And since you haven’t come, I have to write a letter after all. I still don’t believe I can tell you, in a letter, what your actions have meant to me – how deeply I appreciate all you’ve done. Blaise says I just don’t want to put anything in writing for you to hold over my head. Obviously, he’s wrong – this letter is proof of that. And if you do decide to use this letter against me in the future – well, good luck. By the time you’ve reached the end of this, the top part should have begun to fade. Hope you’re not a slow reader.  
In your debt,

_Draco Malfoy_

__

oOo

_December 18, 1998_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_This letter is to inform you that, as per your request, the personal effects of former prisoner Sirius Black have been sent to Mrs. Andromeda Tonks. Your willingness to make alternative arrangements for the delivery of Mr. Black’s effects is sincerely appreciated. The Ministry would have regretted the possible loss or damage of these items that could have occurred in a long-distance transport to you in Australia.  
We congratulate you once more on the posthumous pardon your efforts have achieved for your godfather and once more express our appreciation for your timely response to the matter of the release of Mr. Black’s belongings._

_Thank you,_  
Warden Roland Tutwhittle  
Azkaban Prison

__

oOo

_December 23, 1998_

_Dear Andromeda,_

_Just wanted to let you know that I’ve decided to come home to England after all. Australia’s great, but I really want to finish my final year of school at Hogwarts. Guess I just needed a little time away to realize that. Ron’s here, visiting Hermione for Christmas, so I’ll be returning with him the day after New Year’s. With school starting back right away, it may be the next weekend before I can visit you and Teddy. Hope that’s okay. So, I guess I’ll be seeing you in a week or so. Happy Christmas to you and Teddy! And thanks again for holding on to Sirius’ belongings for me. I appreciate that._

_Harry_

oooooooOooooooo

January 2, 1999

“So, is this the way it was supposed to work?” Harry Potter stood just inside the product testing room of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, covered in orange goo. The wide grin spread across the freckled face of his best friend indicated a complete lack of concern.

“Yeah!” Ron enthused, walking eagerly toward Harry to examine his handiwork. “Just wait.”

So Harry waited – dripping goo – as Ron gleefully circled him, jotting observations on his clipboard. “And how long do I have to wait for your latest product – which, I’d like to point out, I never agreed to help you test – to wear off? We’ve only got a few hours before we have to board the train, you know.” Harry sputtered and spit out a bit of the orange substance that had slid down his cheek and into his mouth as he was talking.

“Before I tell you that, how would you rate your irritation level at this point?” Ron asked, quill poised to record Harry’s response. “Mild? Increasing? Maddening?”

“Oh, I think we’ll definitely go with increasing,” Harry said as he drew his wand – not sure if he was planning to hex Ron or try to get rid of the slimy stuff dripping from his hair and making a mess of his new robes. “Now get this shit off me!”

Ron just stood, grinning, and before Harry could raise his wand to Vanish the goo, it began to dissipate. Harry could feel the substance change from the solid, clinging slime to puffy, wispy stuff that broke away in powdery clumps. Ron smirked proudly at Harry’s surprised expression and moved forward, helping to brush away the dusty residue.

“Isn’t that brilliant? You can slime your targets, but with no danger of them slipping on it – and suing you later,” Ron said happily. “Just picture it: the little Cannons Balloons float over the opposing team’s fans, burst and cover them in orange slime – the visitors’ section now sports splotches of Chudley Cannons orange, the home fans go wild, the Cannons rally! Another victory for the Chudley Cannons!!” Ron threw his hands in the air and ran about the workroom in a mock victory lap.

Despite the fact that he was still brushing off orange powder and couldn’t seem to find a clean place on his robes to wipe his glasses, Harry grinned at Ron’s antics. He’d never seen his friend look more content. Surprisingly, going to work with George at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had proved to be the perfect situation for Ron – though one nobody would have anticipated.

When the dust had cleared from the final battle, Harry and his friends realized that many things had changed – mostly themselves. Harry had decided that he’d had enough trouble for a lifetime – and that seemed to be true for Ron, as well. Their boyhood dreams of becoming Aurors and fighting dark wizards no longer held much appeal. Ron had quickly, though somewhat unexpectedly, found his niche.

Mrs. Weasley was the one to suggest that Ron help George out at the joke shop. She’d intended it only as a summer job. Ron could help George get things operational again and then return to Hogwarts when it reopened. Things didn’t quite fall into place immediately. George had seemed lost and uncertain when faced with the damage done to the business during the war. Ron had watched him wander aimlessly about the shop for about a week before deciding to take action. Instead of waiting for George to direct him, Ron took the initiative with the cleanup of the shop and reestablishment of the business – and had recently become involved with the development of the new product ideas. His enthusiasm proved contagious, and George had begun to recover his drive and, more importantly, his sense of humor.

A clap on Harry’s back sent puffs of orange dust billowing around him. “Hey, Harry! Good to have you hanging about again.” George moved through the orange cloud and into the room. “A little premature for a victory lap, Ron. The idea has potential, I’ll grant you, but the delivery needs some work.”

“Yeah, you might say that,” Harry muttered as he continued to brush the dust away. “Maybe I should have stayed in Australia with Hermione.”

George rolled his eyes. “Worthless – the both of you,” he stated and, with a flick of his wand, left Harry dust-free.

Ron clutched his clipboard to his chest as he approached his brother. “Okay, so balloons aren’t the most original-”

“It’s not the balloons as such,” George explained. “It’s just they’d likely only be good for a one-time use. Next game, when the opposing fans see balloons wafting their way, all they have to do is prevent them from arriving or burst them early.”

Harry watched as Ron considered his brother’s words. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, Ron thrust the clipboard at George and said, “Fine. No balloons. I’ll give it some more thought.”

It was the most mature exchange Harry had witnessed between these two Weasleys – and more than a bit surreal. He would not have been more surprised if George had reached over and playfully ruffled Ron’s hair. That didn’t happen, though, and instead, Ron grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him toward the door.

“Come on, Harry. Let’s get a bite to eat at the Leaky before we board the train. Since Hannah’s started working there, she’s added some new specials.” He waved at his brother as he steered Harry from the room. “See you next weekend, George!”

oooooooOooooooo

The Leaky Cauldron was packed with others who obviously shared their idea of getting something to eat before making their way to King’s Cross Station. But Harry was pleased – and undeniably relieved – that he and Ron were allowed to eat in peace.

Immediately following the war, Harry Potter mania had reigned in wizarding Britain, and Harry could barely step foot outside without being swarmed by crowds of people trying to see the Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort. He had begun to fear he’d have to live the rest of his life shut away inside Grimmauld Place – and that was not a pleasant thought. Just after the funerals of their friends and loved ones, Hermione had left for Australia to set about righting her family situation. Ron stayed to help George in the shop, but – once the initial Death Eater trials had been held – Harry had taken Ron’s suggestion to join Hermione in Australia.

Evidently, the wizarding community had regained some sense during the seven months he was gone. Harry had been back in England for two days now and, though many people approached him with polite greetings and words of thanks, he had not been mobbed once. The _Daily Prophet_ had, of course, heralded his return – noting his healthy tan and confident mien – but the story had been blessedly devoid of speculation and sensationalism.

“I still don’t see why you don’t just stay with George and me above the shop on weekends,” Ron said around a mouthful of shepherd’s pie, “if you’re so unhappy with Grimmauld Place.”

“I’m not unhappy with it, really,” Harry said. “It’s just so big for one person.” He took a sip of butterbeer and added, “And it’s really a mess. I don’t even want to start thinking about all the work that needs to be done there. Anyway, you’ll be busy working at the shop, and I’m looking forward to spending some time with Teddy. I thought it was really nice of Andromeda to invite me to stay with them.”

“But they’re in Hogsmeade, now. That’ll hardly be like leaving school at all. What’s the point of being an ‘Eight’ if you don’t take full advantage of all the perks? Again, I say stay at our place. Being in the city is brilliant, Harry. Lots of things to do.” Ron wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and tipped his glass in a small toast.

Harry smirked. “Lots of things that your girlfriend would approve of?”

Ron choked a bit on his drink but finally managed to say, “What Hermione doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Anyway, we just have fun. And I’ve been completely faithful, so she’ll have no complaints there.” Stabbing into his meal again, Ron added, “Guess you could always stay at the Burrow.”

“Um… no,” Harry said quietly. “Don’t think that would be a good idea. Considering…”

Now Ron smirked as he leaned forward and whispered, “Considering how Ginny found you and Charlie lip-locked in the pantry?”

Harry shushed him – even though Ron’s words had been too quiet to be overheard – and blushed as he asked, “Is she still angry?”

Ron chuckled. “I don’t think so – though, if I know my little sister, she may still give you hell about it anyway.” Considering it for a moment, Ron added, “Really, I think she’s okay. She told me the two of you had agreed you weren’t going to get back together – long before the ‘pantry incident.’”

“Oh, Merlin. You’re always going to call it that aren’t you? And bring it up just to embarrass me.” Harry’s head thunked against the tabletop.

“Not me, mate,” Ron assured him, reaching across to pat him on the head. “But George probably will.”

Harry’s head shot back up just as Hannah reached their table. “Okay there, Harry?” she asked. “Food was alright, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Hannah. Thanks, it was great.” Harry took another bite of his meal to reassure her.

“It’s really nice to see you, Harry. I wondered if you were going to stay in Australia for good,” Hannah said.

“Got a bit homesick, I guess. I decided I really wanted to finish out the year at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “Ron told me you decided not to go back for the eighth-year program.”

Hannah shrugged. “I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for anyone who wants a chance to make up that last year, but I don’t really think I need my NEWTs for this place.” She straightened a bit and said, “You chaps are looking at the next proprietor of this establishment – mark my words.”

“That’s brilliant, Hannah,” Harry congratulated her. He was pleased to find that another of his classmates was moving on from the war and making plans for a career she was obviously excited about.

“Of course, it sounds pretty interesting. Hogwarts, I mean,” Hannah said with a grin. “Eighth-year privileges and all.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Getting to test-out of classes was a big help to a lot of people – except me, of course.” Ron indicated himself and Harry. “We missed all of seventh year, but almost all the other Eights are taking a reduced schedule. Being able to leave on weekends is brilliant, though.”

Hannah giggled then. “I’ll bet. Who wouldn’t have somewhere better to be than a dormitory full of little brats?”

Harry heard Ron argue that they weren’t brats when they had been the younger students at Hogwarts, but his mind was replaying what Hannah had said. Who wouldn’t have somewhere better to be? Harry resisted the urge to head-butt the tabletop again, realizing that her words – despite the invitations to stay with Ron and Andromeda – described him to a certain degree. He did have the house that Sirius had left him, but Grimmauld Place had never felt like a home to him. That was something he was still searching for. He had some ideas about it, but Harry would have to wait until he spoke with Professor McGonagall before he could know if his own plans for the future would pan out.

oooooooOooooooo

“I just wish Hermione had come back with us,” Ron said as he opened the door to their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. “I mean, I know she didn’t see her parents last year. I guess I shouldn’t complain if she wants to spend this year with them before she comes back here to be with me. But why do her parents want to stay in Australia, anyway? Now that Mione’s restored their memories, shouldn’t they just all come home?” Ron let out a loud sigh. “I think going to see her over Christmas just makes me miss her more now.”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry offered as he followed Ron into the compartment. He really didn’t feel qualified to comment on relationships. Harry claimed one of the seats and was just considering stretching out across it when the door of the compartment slid open. He looked up in anticipation of seeing Neville or even Ginny – and instead watched in complete surprise as Draco Malfoy swept inside.

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy since immediately following his trial. The courtroom had not yet cleared when Harry had walked over to Draco, returned his wand and wished him luck. The very next day, Harry had left for Australia.

In times past, Harry would have been alarmed at Malfoy barging into their compartment – certain that he was there to start something. But now – well, Malfoy hadn’t actually barged in. And he wasn’t wearing that haughty sneer that had seemed permanently stamped upon his visage when they were younger. Although, to be fair, Draco hadn’t really worn that expression since about the middle of sixth year.

Harry remembered thinking – at the time of the trial – that Draco had mostly looked defeated. Even when Harry had returned his wand, Draco had only stared at it and, though he had mumbled a thank you, had seemed unable to look Harry in the eye. Harry had later received a letter from Draco and it had seemed a genuine expression of thanks – but he’d only been able to read through it once before the ink faded and the words had disappeared. Evidently it was some kind of Slytherin policy to never put things like that – permanently – in writing.

Draco might not have been wearing a sneer now, but neither was his manner that of the broken, uncertain boy Harry had last seen in the courtroom. The proud bearing was back, and Harry assumed that was something that had simply been bred into him. Nothing in his expression indicated any kind of challenge or belligerence. Even when he tossed his head a bit, it seemed not so much a gesture of arrogance, as simply a method of shaking the soft-looking blond hair out of his eyes. And, Harry noted, the pointy git had grown even taller and was less… pointy.

Malfoy acknowledged him with a brief nod and a muttered “Potter” before turning to address Ron and handing him a small package. “Weasley, your brother asked me to give this to you. I stopped by the shop on my way here, and he told me of your implementation idea for our slime powder. Thought you had something like that in mind when you asked if I could make it orange. I look forward to seeing what you come up with for the delivery.”

Ron accepted the package and, with a sheepish glance at Harry, said, “Thanks, Malfoy. It’s a great product. I’m sure I’ll come up with something to do it justice.”

Malfoy nodded again. “See you at school.” As he turned toward the door, he caught Harry’s eye. “Welcome back, Potter.” And then he was gone.

Harry stared at the door for a long moment before he realized that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and turned to find Ron looking at him anxiously. “What just happened?” he asked.

Ron was nervously turning the package over in his hands, shaking it absently. Harry briefly wondered at the wisdom of handling a package from George in that manner, but he was distracted from that fleeting thought when Ron finally spoke. “Um, did I mention to you that Malfoy is working for us?”

Harry sat forward and gripped the seats as if trying to keep himself from jumping up. “He’s what?”

Tossing the package on the seat behind him, Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “He’s working for us at the joke shop.”

Harry stared at his friend in disbelief for a few silent moments. “No, Ron. In all the letters you sent since I left for Australia last July _or_ over your entire holiday visit _or_ in the two days I’ve been back in England – the two days I’ve spent mostly in your company – you’ve somehow failed to mention that Draco Malfoy is working for you.”

Stubbornness rising in response to Harry’s irritation, Ron pulled his hands from his pockets to fold his arms across his chest. “Well, it’s your fault,” he said testily.

Giving a small shake of his head, sure he’d misheard, Harry sputtered, “My fault? How is Draco Malfoy working for you and George my fault?”

“Well, you got him cleared at his trial, didn’t you? Him and his parents? And we needed someone brilliant at potions to help develop the new products. And George asked me, ‘Who do you know who’s brilliant at potions?’ and I said, ‘Hermione.’ And then George called me an idiot – the arse – and said, ‘Who do you know that’s brilliant at potions but not halfway round the sodding world?’ and I was just being a bit of a prat and said, ‘Malfoy.’”

“And George hired him?” Harry exclaimed. Wincing a bit at the somewhat shrill pitch his voice had managed to work up to at the end, Harry modulated his voice and asked more quietly, “What’s he need to work for, anyway? Isn’t that beneath him or something?”

Ron sighed and relaxed his posture a bit, flopping onto the seat across from Harry. “I don’t know. George thinks he was just willing to do anything to get away from the Manor. There’s a whole special unit of Aurors still assigned there – trying to sort through whatever might have been left behind by all the Death Eaters.”

Harry released his death grip on the seat cushion and considered Ron’s words. Yeah, Malfoy Manor was probably not a pleasant place to be – and hadn’t been for a while, considering Draco’s wartime houseguests. At least Harry had some good memories of Grimmauld Place. Even those, however, were tempered with sadness, knowing he’d never see Sirius or Remus in that old house again. Yes, Harry could definitely relate to Draco’s apparent desire to escape from a residence unavoidably tied to those kinds of wartime memories.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, noting the odd look on Harry’s face. “Harry? You alright, mate?”

Exhaling a shaky breath, Harry said, “I just realized I have something in common with Draco Malfoy.”

“Yeah – who would have guessed – you both like blokes,” Ron said with a shrug.

“What?” Harry yelped, clutching the cushions again.

“Okay, not so much of a surprise about Malfoy. Always was a ponce. Uh – no offense.” Noting Harry’s high color and look of agitation, Ron offered, “I meant you, of course – who would have guessed? Well, Ginny said she did, so no real shocker about the you and Charlie thing. You okay, Harry?”

Harry was not okay. Ron was blithely dropping one bombshell after another. Malfoy worked for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Malfoy liked blokes. Ginny wasn’t surprised to discover that Harry liked blokes as well. True – she hadn’t seemed nearly as shocked to find Harry having his tonsils thoroughly licked by her brother as he had thought she might have been – but she’d never said anything to _him_ to indicate she thought he might be gay. Harry wondered just how long she had suspected – and why she hadn’t thought to clue him in.

The kiss in the pantry with Charlie had been kind of an accident. The Burrow had been crowded with members of the Order, Tonks’ colleagues from the Auror department and others who had attended the funeral for Remus and his wife. It seemed that the Weasley home had become the place everyone had gathered after the funerals to remember the departed and take comfort in those who had survived. Harry had simply needed some time away from everyone. He didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place – where memories of Remus would have been particularly painful. He had just been looking for somewhere to take a few quiet moments for himself.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the pantry when Charlie had joined him. The other man had noticed Harry’s escape and had been concerned about him. Harry had always felt drawn to Charlie – he wasn’t sure why. The dragon keeper’s presence was reassuring and exciting all at once. Being in the close quarters of the pantry had made Harry hyper-aware of that strong presence – and when Charlie had drawn him into a comforting hug, Harry felt electrified. He wasn’t sure how the kissing had begun, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that kissing Charlie – instead of Ginny – felt right in a way he’d never imagined anything could.

And then Ginny had opened the door and things had changed irrevocably. Since then, Harry had come to realize it was probably best for everyone that it had happened that way. It was true that he and Ginny had already decided they were no longer interested in trying to develop a romantic relationship – but he had been forced to examine something about himself that he’d always pushed to the back of his consciousness. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had plenty to distract him from thinking about how he felt regarding men as opposed to women.

After the ‘pantry incident’ – as Ron had now dubbed it – figuring out his sexuality had given Harry something to focus on that was not war-related. Something extremely pleasant. He had taken advantage of his time in Australia to clarify things. He’d worked quite diligently at it during the last seven months – with the assistance of some very willing young men Down Under. The pleasant upshot of the experience being that he was now undeniably certain that he was definitely, and quite happily, gay.

And so was Draco Malfoy evidently. Well, gay anyway – according to Ron. Harry didn’t know if Draco was happy about it but, from his own experience, Harry couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be. Maybe he could ask Draco about it. Over a pint.

“Harry!” Ron’s voice cut across the path Harry’s thoughts had begun to wander down. “Are you alright?? Say something, mate!”

“Just feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the changes,” Harry said, shaking his head and raking a hand through the dark mess of his too-long hair. “Things were pretty quiet in Australia with Hermione and her parents.”

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Malfoy. To be honest, it’s just such a weird situation; I’m still getting used to it myself.” Ron shook his head ruefully. “Never would have seen this coming. Oh – one thing. If you happen to see Malfoy – you know, in class or around the shop – don’t mention the whole working _for_ us thing.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Malfoy doesn’t know he’s working for you?”

Ron exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Well, Malfoy insists that he’s working _with_ us.”

“What’s the difference? You’re paying him, aren’t you?” Harry asked.

“My point exactly!” Ron said, obviously pleased to have his feelings about the situation validated. “But Malfoy goes completely mental if you say it the other way. Insists he’s a contractor and we’re paying him for the use of his skills.”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Well… yeah – I guess I can see that.”

“Oh, not you, too! George buys into that shit as well!” Ron threw up his hands in frustration. “All I know is that we require a service from him and we pay him. Sounds like he’s working for us to me.”

Harry tried not to smile at his friend’s exasperation. The whole idea of Malfoy working for – or with – Ron Weasley was fairly preposterous. He was certain it took a decent amount of restraint on both their parts. “Whatever you say, mate. I’ll try to remember not to mention it – one way or another.”

“Good thing.” Ron nodded, grimacing. “Trust me – you do not want to set Malfoy off about that. He can go on for hours – a classic Malfoy bitch-fest.”

“Well, that, at least, sounds normal,” Harry said, relaxing once more against the cushions.

Harry could indeed imagine an indignant Draco Malfoy. When Harry had thought about Malfoy over the last seven months – and he _had_ done so – he’d often pictured the other wizard agitated and… worked up. Once Harry had embraced his sexuality, he would often find himself daydreaming about his Hogwarts classmates – and wondering if any of them were gay. Those thoughts often led him to imagining what those other young men might look like, or be like, during sex. Harry had been surprised when Draco Malfoy had somehow managed to push his way into a recurring role in his fantasies. Malfoy might be an arse, but he was an undeniably gorgeous arse. Truthfully, Harry hadn’t thought of him as ‘pointy’ in years.

Harry shook his head again; it was probably best not to allow his mind to drift that way at the moment. Quite deliberately, he turned his thoughts and the conversation away from Draco Malfoy. “So… what do you think is in the package George sent?”

“Oh!” Ron started, obviously having forgotten about the package Malfoy had delivered. Grabbing the small, plain-wrapped box, Ron shook it once more before tearing into it. Its contents were quickly revealed to be a key and a hand-written note. Ron scanned the note and exclaimed, “Yes! This is brilliant!”

“What?” Harry asked, curious about the key.

“Well, we’ve been checking into buying out the old Zonko’s Joke Shop. George – and Fred – had always talked about opening a branch in Hogsmeade. Zonko’s never did open back up after the war. We reckoned it was a perfect opportunity to expand.” Holding up the note, he said, “George has been in negotiations for months, and now he’s bought the building and all the stock that was left.” Now lifting the key, Ron added, “And he’s sent me the key – I’m to start sorting through things this weekend.”

Harry grinned at Ron’s obvious enthusiasm. It was clear that being a part of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was a perfect fit for him. “That _is_ brilliant,” Harry said. “You really do like this stuff, don’t you?”

Ron’s grin split his face. “Absolutely. You know, business – it’s just strategy. Like chess. Why wouldn’t I like it? And there’s a good possibility that, once I’ve finished school, the Hogsmeade store will be all mine.”

Harry sat forward and reached across the compartment to shake Ron’s hand. “Congratulations, mate. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Ron gazed lovingly at the key for a few moments, then his eyes went wide. “Merlin’s tits! Do you know what this means?”

Harry shook his head, a bit alarmed by the wild glint in Ron’s eyes.

“Party!” Ron exclaimed. “Party at Zonko’s!”

oooooooOooooooo

Draco kept his expression blank as he exited Harry and Ron’s compartment, determined to maintain his cool demeanor. He brushed past other students hurrying to find their seats as the train lurched into motion. He doubted any of them noted the color rising in his cheeks or could hear the pounding of his heart. His composure lasted until the very second he entered his own compartment, threw himself down onto the seat next to Theo and proceeded to huddle into the corner. Blaise, the indolent bastard, was sprawled across the entirety of the other seat.

“Watch it!” Theo glared first at the drops of ink that had fallen from the quill he had poised above his parchment and then at Draco for jostling him. Fortunately, the ink pot still hovered undisturbed on the opposite side of him. “What’s your problem?”

“Potter,” Draco mumbled through the hands covering his face. “Potter’s here.”

“Yes,” Blaise confirmed. “Saw him on the platform. Hard to miss with everyone pointing and gasping in delight.”

“You saw him there, too, Draco,” Theo said, scribbling on his parchment.

“ _And_ gasped with delight,” Blaise added, grinning wickedly.

“I did not!” Draco sat up and tried to scorch Blaise with a glare.

Theo stopped the movement of his quill and turned to Draco with an appraising look. “Oh my great-aunt’s cauldron-scalded knickers. Please tell me we are _not_ returning to the days of Draco Malfoy’s Harry Potter obsession.”

“Return?” Blaise asked, smirking. “When did you think we left? Surely you didn’t think several thousand miles and half a year’s separation would dim that flame.”

“Just stop! Both of you!” Draco flopped back against the seat and crossed his arms against his chest. “I am not obsessed with Harry Potter.” Over the loud groans and calls of ‘oh please!’ Draco shouted, “I’m not!” When his friends quieted, he added, “It’s just that – I just saw him for the first time. Up close.”

Theo groaned again, and Blaise chuckled and said, “In all his glory, right?”

Draco sighed, “Well, he is fairly glorious. All tanned and hero-y.”

“Hero-y?” Theo mocked, rolling his eyes. “Can’t we just go back to that simpler time when you hated Potter? There was a certain comfort in all that predictable animosity.”

“Ah, but that was before Potter did his hero-y thing and saved fair Draco from a fiery end – or a fate worse than death as the sex toy of the depraved Dark Lord!” Blaise twirled an imaginary mustache for melodramatic emphasis.

“Sex toy of the Dark Lord?” Draco grimaced. “Where do you get this tripe?” Blaise shrugged and Draco continued. “And anyway, I never _really_ hated him.”

Over Theo’s scoffing, Blaise said, “I believe that’s true. I think it was just the constantly trying to decide if you wanted to kill him or fuck him that made you so cranky.”

Draco sighed again. “Well, I don’t want to kill him.”

“Yes, well, prepare to stand in line behind all the other people who don’t want to kill him,” Theo said. “And that line starts right behind Ginny Weasley, doesn’t it? Aren’t they practically engaged?”

“Not from what I hear,” Blaise said, and then smirked at the way Draco perked up to listen. “That relationship can be counted amongst the casualties of the war.”

“Which makes very little difference,” Theo said, looking over his parchment before resuming his writing. “The point about Ginny Weasley is that she’s a girl and Potter was dating her. So, our poor Draco will have to continue to admire his heterosexual hero from afar.”

“I hate you, Theo,” Draco said. “And not in the way that means I really want to fuck you. I really, definitely hate you.” Draco slumped back against the seat. “I hate my life. I hate having Aurors at my house day and night. I hate my parents for insisting that I go back to Hogwarts for this absurd eighth-year charade. And I hate, _hate_ working with the Weasleys.”

“Ha! Not true!” Blaise insisted. “And as if you had any choice about working with the Weasleys.” He stood, grabbed Theo’s quill, and transfigured it – over the other boy’s protestations – into a cane with a silver snake’s head for the handle. Drawing himself into an arrogant posture and flipping imaginary flowing locks over his shoulder, Blaise sauntered over to Draco and said, “Hmm, yes. You will accept this offer, Draco. Working with the Weasleys, the heroes of the light, will be our first step back into the good graces of society – and on toward total wizarding domination. You will take that step, my son. Our salvation rests with you.”

“Again,” Draco muttered, watching as Blaise began to pet the silver snake head and whisper nonsensical things to it. Rolling his eyes, he pulled his wand and cast the spell to end the charm. He ignored Blaise’s pout as he grabbed the restored quill and handed it back to Theo.

Slouching into the corner, Draco turned to stare out of the window. He listened to Theo’s quill quietly scratching and heard Blaise settle in once more – no doubt to nap for most of the journey. When the view of the swiftly passing scenery began to make him dizzy, Draco closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, as Blaise was doing. Draco was too excited, too aware of the presence of Harry Potter only a few compartments away.

Blaise was right – about a lot of things. Draco didn’t hate his life. He certainly didn’t hate working with the Weasleys. And he absolutely didn’t hate Harry Potter. Perhaps there had been times when he had hated Potter. Well, yes – there definitely were times when he hated him. But there had always been something in him that had yearned for Harry as well – even from the day they had first met, when Draco hadn’t realized that the little boy with those big, green, wonder-filled eyes he had found so enchanting was, in fact, the famous Harry Potter. It seemed as if everything since then had conspired to keep them apart – make them enemies instead of all that Draco thought they might have been.

But what was that, exactly? They could have been friends, perhaps, and Draco might have been willing to settle for that. It would have been better than being Harry’s enemy, surely. But, here – alone with his thoughts – Draco didn’t have to deny that he wanted much more than friendship. He wanted Harry – to care for, to protect from all those who couldn’t _really_ care about Harry because they didn’t know him the way Draco did. He recognized the absurdity of that thought at once. Harry was the protector, not Draco. And yet, there was something about Harry that always made Draco picture that scruffy urchin he’d first met at Madam Malkin’s eight years ago. That was the Harry he wanted to protect. And to love. And – to himself – he could admit that he didn’t deserve that. And that he was a fool, destined for a broken heart.

oooooooOooooooo

Harry stepped off the train and grinned at the familiar sight of Hogsmeade Station. Contentment swept over him, and he realized he had been waiting for this feeling since returning to England. He should have known he wouldn’t experience it until he was close to Hogwarts once more.

“Harry!”

He turned toward the sound of his name, expecting to see one of his classmates. Instead, he saw Andromeda Tonks standing on the platform, Teddy Lupin in her arms. Harry rushed over to them and impulsively hugged Andromeda and then placed a loud kiss on Teddy’s soft cheek. The baby stared at him with wide, curious eyes and made a sound that Harry chose to interpret as a laugh.

“I know you have to go up to the castle soon – and we shouldn’t stay out here in this cold air too long,” Andromeda said, smiling at him. “I just hated being this close without giving Teddy a chance to see you.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you did,” Harry told her. He turned to the happy, gurgling baby and touched the wispy blue strands of soft hair sticking out from under Teddy’s stocking cap. “He’s so big. When did that happen?”

“It’s what babies do, Harry,” she said as she handed the baby over to him. “I’m glad you’ll be here to see him grow now.”

Teddy wiggled into Harry’s arms and immediately reached for his glasses. Harry managed to capture the tiny hands before they got a good hold, but smudges of evidence remained on the lenses. Harry laughed and pretended to nibble on the little fingers, and Teddy continued to coo happily.

“We’re very glad you’re planning to stay with us on the weekends. Aren’t we, Teddy?” Andromeda laughed at the baby’s perfectly-timed squeal. “You’ll have to help me finish unpacking some boxes to give you more room, though.”

“No problem. I just really appreciate the invitation to stay with you,” Harry told her sincerely.

“You’re Teddy’s godfather, Harry.” In the manner Harry had become accustomed to in the time he spent with her before he left England, Andromeda looked very directly into his eyes and spoke with unassailable certainty. “You’re family.”

Harry felt the weight of the simple statement and nodded, unwilling to risk speech at that moment. In the time he had spent with Andromeda and Teddy before he left for Australia, he felt that he had formed a close friendship with the woman Sirius had called his ‘favorite cousin.’ It was good to know she felt that bond with him as well and was willing to share her home with him. “Thank you,” he was finally able to whisper.

She nodded to him, then reached into a bag that was hung over her shoulder. She retrieved a bundle wrapped in plain brown paper. “This is the package sent by the Ministry. I thought you might want it now, rather than waiting until next weekend.”

Harry felt his heart constrict. That package contained whatever had been taken from Sirius when he was arrested for the murder of James and Lily Potter. Harry had been stunned when he had received the initial letter from Azkaban. He had assumed that, since very few people ever seemed to be released from the prison, there was no procedure for cataloguing and holding an inmate’s belongings. He supposed that sending any personal possessions on to _surviving_ relatives was probably more common.

After the final battle, after the funerals, Harry had taken it upon himself to see to the matter of exonerating Sirius Black of the murder of his parents. It turned out to be quite a lengthy process, but it had kept him occupied while he waited for the Malfoy family to face trial for their activities during the war. Harry had been determined to be there to speak for them. He felt he owed that to Narcissa – and Draco.

Another sharp squeal from Teddy disrupted Harry’s thoughts and, suddenly, his arms were full of a wiggling nine-month-old. The child had spotted something beyond Harry and seemed to be struggling toward it and chattering quite animatedly. Then Teddy’s hair changed from baby blue to a very particular shade of light blond, and Andromeda called out, “Draco!”

As Draco approached their group, Teddy grew more excited. He had obviously decided that Draco was there to see _him_ and seemed almost to launch himself into the young man’s arms. Harry had no choice about whether to hand the baby over to Draco or not; Teddy had simply decided he was going. Fortunately, Draco caught the baby easily in his arms, smiling at Teddy’s squeals of delight. Harry was distracted from his momentary feeling of abandonment by the sight of Draco Malfoy smiling with obvious affection at the orphaned child of Remus Lupin.

“Hello, baby boy,” Draco whispered as he hugged Teddy close. Then Harry watched in utter surprise as he leaned over to kiss Andromeda on the cheek. “Hello, Aunt.”

Harry thought he remembered to keep his mouth from falling open this time, but once more was nonplussed. He was aware, of course, that Andromeda was Draco’s aunt, but had no idea that they were even on speaking terms. Andromeda had not attended the trial of the Malfoys, but Harry knew she had begun a tentative correspondence with Narcissa during that time. Obviously, Andromeda and Teddy were quite comfortable with Draco. Harry felt a little twinge of jealousy as he watched them.

Draco could feel Potter watching him, but – just as on the train earlier – the other man didn’t say a word. Since he reasoned he’d already made the first move with his earlier words of welcome, Draco didn’t try to engage Harry – instead turning his attention to the child in his arms. “You’re out late, aren’t you, Teddy? Don’t you know it’s past your grandmother’s bedtime?”

Andromeda rolled her eyes, but gave Draco a wry smile as she pulled Teddy back into her arms. “Don’t you worry about us, young man. We know what we’re doing.”

What Teddy was doing now was pouting. His little lip was quivering, and he appeared to be working up to a wail. Before that could erupt, Draco leaned back in to place a loud, smacking kiss on the baby’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Teddy. I’ll see you soon.”

“This weekend?” Andromeda asked. “Won’t that be nice, Teddy? To have Draco _and_ Harry with us? With the two of you helping me, I’ll have those other boxes cleared out of the spare room in no time. It really is quite large – though I suppose we’ll need to transfigure the bed into two singles.”

“Potter will be staying with you, too?” This was news to Draco, but certainly not unpleasant. When he turned to Harry, however, he found the other man staring at him, eyes wide once more – but at least his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Obviously Harry was horrified at the thought of spending any time in close proximity to him. He thought he heard Andromeda confirm the living arrangements as disappointment clawed at his heart. Clearly, his hopes for even friendship with Harry were foolish pipe dreams. Anything beyond that – delusional fantasies.

Well, he wasn’t going to let Potter be the one to reject him again. Gathering his Malfoy pride – admittedly a now somewhat battered tool – he turned away from Harry and, addressing his aunt, said, “Thank you, Aunt Andromeda, but I’m afraid I can’t. I have several projects to complete. I should really stay at school this weekend to see to them.” He hugged her quickly and nuzzled Teddy’s cheek as he pulled gently on a strand of the still white-blond hair. And then he turned and walked quickly away.

Harry watched him go, still somewhat stunned. Who was this person that looked so much like Draco Malfoy – but was nothing like the haughty, vitriol-spewing pure-blood snob Harry had known before? True – Draco had seemed genuinely humbled by the outcome of the war and had written a surprisingly nice letter thanking Harry for his testimony at the trial. Now he was working with the Weaselys and actually conversing quite amicably with Ron. Evidently, he was even well-liked by small children – or at least one in particular. Harry didn’t quite know what to think – but he was certain of one thing. Draco Malfoy without the unpleasant sneer and hateful attitude was indeed something to behold. Harry had long-since admitted that Malfoy was attractive, but now the bastard was adding congenial to the mix – and Harry wasn’t sure what to do with that. He certainly wasn’t ready to share a room with Draco while he tried to sort it all out.

A soft cry from Teddy drew Harry’s attention away from Draco’s retreating form. The baby was rubbing his sleepy face against his grandmother’s shoulder. Andromeda was soothing the child with gentle pats – a gesture totally at odds with the cold look she was directing toward Harry.

“Wh-what?” Harry managed speech at last.

“I stand by what I said before, Harry. You are welcome to make your home with us.” Her eyes narrowed a bit before she continued. “However, Draco is also part of this family, and he needs us. You testified for him at his trial. I had the impression from Draco that the animosity between the two of you was resolved.” She took a step toward Harry and arched a fine, dark eyebrow. “I expect to see both of you this weekend, so you had better fix this.” Then she turned sharply away, leaving Harry standing alone on the platform.

oooooooOooooooo

It had been a long, exhausting evening and Harry now lay back on his narrow bed in the Gryffindor eighth-year dorm. The curtains were drawn about the bed, but he lay atop his covers, still wearing the neat, dark jeans and button-down shirt he had worn under his new robes. He thought he could already hear Ron’s soft snores, and someone – Dean perhaps – had just returned from the bathroom and was settling in. He knew Neville, too, was already settled into his bed, but didn’t know if he was sleeping yet or not.

It had seemed odd for the four of them to reunite without also having Seamus there. The Irishman had not returned for the eighth-year program; though Dean was still in touch with him and reported that he was happily involved in his family’s business. Though it was late when they managed to do so, once the four remaining Gryffindor eighth-years had finally made it up to their dorm, they toasted their Irish friend with a shot of Ogden’s from the bottle Neville had produced from his trunk.

Many students had lingered over the evening meal in the Great Hall, greeting their friends from different houses after the holiday break. Once in the common room, every member of Gryffindor seemed to want to personally welcome Harry back. Much to his relief, Ginny had given him a big hug – rather than hexing him. He had initially been confused when she had whispered that she had been doing some reconnaissance for him, but finally understood that she, evidently, had all the information he could want on the gay population of Hogwarts. Dean had finally pulled Harry up to the dorm while Ron and Neville blocked the way of those who tried to follow.

Harry stacked his hands behind his head and let out a contented sigh. Being back at Hogwarts felt right, but Harry knew he hadn’t been ready to return here when school had started last September. When he’d made the decision to go to Australia, he’d needed a respite from the insanity of his post-war existence. He hadn’t actually intended to stay away so long. But as the new school year had approached, Harry had not been ready to return to Hogwarts – afraid that the memories of the final battle would be too painful here. Staying with Hermione and her parents, attending the wizarding school there, felt right at the time – as right as being at Hogwarts felt now.

He had known – even before Ron had arrived for Christmas – that it was time for him to return to England. The letter from the Ministry, informing him that the pardon for Sirius had been granted, had been delivered during the first week of December. Soon after, he had been notified that – as the heir of Sirius’ estate – he was to receive the pardoned prisoner’s personal effects. It was really at that point that he had decided to return home.

Harry sat up and, casting a _Lumos_ , eyed the plain-wrapped bundle that Andromeda had given him when he’d arrived in Hogsmeade. He’d wanted to be alone when he opened it, so he had laid it here on his bed, determined to wait until his friends had retired before he opened it. He knew he should be sleeping as well. It was quite late and he wanted to be rested for his first day of classes, but Harry was not willing to forgo this opportunity to open the package. He pulled it to him and began to tear at the paper.

Of course it would make sense that the largest items enclosed were articles of clothing. The pair of faded Muggle blue jeans was not too unexpected but seemed a little at odds with the soft grey jumper. Harry had only recently become more sartorially aware, but he could tell the jumper was well-made and had probably been an expensive purchase. A battered, black leather jacket seemed to make up the bulk of the items in the package. Harry pulled it out and held it up, smiling as he pictured Sirius strutting around in it – the epitome of cool. He pulled it to his face and rubbed the cool leather against his cheek, hoping the garment still held Sirius’ scent. It didn’t, though, so Harry drew it on – hoping to feel close to Sirius once more. The jacket fit him well, and Harry had a sense that his choice of returning to England seeming once more affirmed.

He sat for a moment, encased in memories of Sirius Black; rogue, friend, godfather. A soft smile settled on his lips, and Harry turned once more to the few remaining items that had been bundled in the paper. There was a bit of money, both wizard and Muggle, but not a great deal. Next he found a pair of Muggle sunglasses – the aviator sort with the mirrored lenses. These were broken, though, and Harry laid them aside – choosing not to dwell on the fact that the damage had probably occurred during Sirius’ arrest. When he lifted the clothing to see if anything remained, a flash of silver dropped to the bed. It was a pocket watch, somewhat tarnished, but still glowing in the soft light from Harry’s wand. Examining it, he found the metal was cool in his hand and had a rampant lion etched into the surface. Harry pressed the clasp and, as the watch opened, a lock of dark hair fell out. Opposite the face of the watch was a photo of Sirius, smiling down at the dark-haired baby in his arms. The child, younger than Teddy was now, looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes. Harry knew he must be the infant. Despite Sirius’ smile, Harry wondered if his godfather had experienced the same panic when holding him as Harry had felt when first presented with his own godson.

Still clutching the pocket watch, Harry fell back on the bed. It was then that he felt something in the inner pocket of the jacket he still wore. Opening the jacket, he reached into the pocket and withdrew a soft leather pouch. The weight and movement indicated that there was something within the pouch and Harry loosened the strings to open it. With the leather no longer gathered by the strings, he noticed the gold letters embossed upon the pouch: HJP. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Was this pouch – and whatever it held – something that had belonged to him as a child? He pulled the pouch open and found that it was lined with dark green velvet. A little hesitantly, Harry peered into the bag. Whatever lay in the bottom was concealed by a folded piece of parchment. Harry withdrew it from the pouch, carefully unfolded it and began to read.

 _Padfoot,_  
How’ve you been, you old dog? We’ve missed your visits. Dumbledore is adamant that Lily, Harry and I stay secluded here. I know it’s for safety’s sake, but it’s deadly dull not being able to even go into the village. Don’t get the impression that I’m other than a blissfully happy family man, but even Lily’s a little antsy to get out of the house. Your company would certainly be welcome – if order business can spare you. Perhaps you can come for Hallowe’en? It won’t be much of a celebration this year, but if we can all be together it might seem a bit more festive. Maybe you can bring Remus and Peter with you. Give it some thought anyway, would you?  
I need to ask a favor. Since the old man insists that we stay on the property, I wonder if you might pick up something for me: a Christmas present for Harry. I know – we’re not even through Hallowe’en yet. Still, I have no idea when we’ll be allowed to get out and about, so I may not have a chance to shop – and this item might be a little difficult to find. I want you to see if you can procure a set of marbles for Harry. I’m sure you know the kind I mean. Lily was really impressed with the broom and the other wizarding toys Harry received for his birthday. It’s funny how you can argue and try to talk to her about our culture, but it takes a child’s toy to really bring her a new appreciation for it. Although, to be honest, she’s not too keen on the marbles. Says you can’t give a one-year-old something like that since he’d just try to put them in his mouth. She’s probably right. Yes, I’ll admit that – just don’t tell Lily!  
Still, I can’t seem to get the marbles out of my mind. I had a set when I was a kid. Didn’t you? I was fascinated by the images within and used to check them every day to see if one of the dark ones would change. Of course, I have no idea where my old set is now. Wonder what they’d show – the ones that hadn’t changed yet when I stopped playing with them? Well, if you can find a set, could you pick them up for me? Maybe have Harry’s initials embossed on the bag and everything. I’ve enclosed a little snippet of his hair for the recognition charm. Should be enough. I know it may take a while to find this item, but you’re the only other person who would, I think, understand why I want Harry to have them.  
Hope to see you soon. Your last owl mentioned you had an idea about our situation to address the safety issue. Always interested to hear more about that!  
Prongs

Harry reread the letter at least five times, imagining the voice of his father as he sounded when they met in the forest before the final battle. James’ teasing about Lily brought a smile to Harry’s lips. His father’s desire for a particular gift for his son made his eyes burn a bit with unshed tears. Ever since he’d first been told of the origin of his scar, he had ample evidence of his mother’s love for him. It wasn’t that he’d ever doubted that his father loved him – it had just never seemed as real as it did now.

Finally he laid the letter aside and peered once more into the pouch. Though he could feel the weight of the marbles, hear them clicking against each other, Harry couldn’t see them. He pulled the grey jumper into his lap and tipped the pouch so that the marbles rolled out onto the soft fabric. Harry immediately felt a stab of disappointment. All the marbles were black, showing none of the images his father’s letter had mentioned. Was something wrong with them? Maybe Sirius had been unable to find the kind of marbles James had wanted.

Harry counted fifteen marbles, one larger than the rest. He reached down and picked up the large one, bringing it close to examine it. The cold surface of the glass began to warm slightly, and, at first, Harry assumed it was the warmth of his own hand that had caused it. Then he noticed that the color of the marble was growing lighter – no longer the solid black it had once been, but now a swirling silver-grey. Excitement pulsed through him as he watched the marble closely, waiting for an image to form within it. After several moments, however, the disappointment began to creep back. Was this all there was to it? Changing from black to swirly grey?

Laying the large marble aside, he decided to try some of the others. Not really expecting much, he picked up another marble and was surprised when it immediately began to change. The black paled slightly to a dark, royal purple, and the image of a proud stag pranced into view. Harry laughed aloud and almost upset the other marbles when he practically jumped in delight. “Hello, Dad,” he said to the stag, and it reared onto its hind legs as if in greeting.

Though he was reluctant to lay aside the marble with the stag, Harry was anxious to see what would be revealed within the other marbles. Again, the change to the next marble he chose began the moment he touched it. This one also paled to purple – lightening further to become a soft shade of lavender. Very slowly, a white lily unfurled from within. Now the tears that had gathered in his eyes earlier slipped down his face but failed to dim his smile. He picked up the stag marble again and held it side by side with the lily.

Harry was uncertain how long he sat there gazing at the marbles with the images that represented his parents. He wondered what kinds of things his father’s marbles had revealed and what had become of them. He began to imagine what other images might appear when he touched the remaining marbles, but found himself reluctant to do so. The stag and lily made him feel connected to his parents. It wasn’t the sense of longing he’d experienced when gazing into the Mirror of Erised all those years ago. These two small spheres of glass with the familiar images created a feeling of… belonging. Harry was part of James and Lily Potter: the stag and the flower. They were his, and he was theirs.

The decision to save the remaining marbles for a later time was easily made. He was, of course, curious about what the other marbles would reveal, but he wanted to take the time to enjoy this feeling of belonging that the stag and lily gave him. Harry laid aside those two marbles. He reckoned it was his touching the marbles that probably activated the change. Very carefully, he used the pouch to scoop up the remaining, still black marbles. They clacked about within the pouch as if clamoring to come back out and be revealed. Harry didn’t relent, though. Instead, he reached for the large marble once more.

It was curious that, though his touch had elicited some change within the marble, it continued to merely swirl with a silvery iridescence. There was still no hint of an image – although, as he watched it, Harry did get the sense that the swirling could be caused by something inside that was struggling to emerge. He shook his head slightly, reckoning that the late hour, the Ogden’s, and the discovery of the marbles had him feeling – perhaps – a bit whimsical. He dropped the large marble into the pouch and once more reached for the stag and lily. Though he knew it was a bit silly, he gave into the urge to place a kiss on each cool glass sphere before placing them carefully into the pouch.

Harry fell back on his pillow, suddenly feeling completely knackered and knew that if he didn’t move, he’d fall asleep fully clothed, Sirius’ belongings still scattered on his bed. Despite his fatigue, he couldn’t bring himself to dread the coming morning. He was ready to start classes and, perhaps, have an opportunity to speak with Professor McGonagall.

And, of course, there was Andromeda’s order to see to it that Draco accompanied him to her house for the weekend. He acknowledged feeling a bit of anxiety about trying to approach Draco. Each time Harry had seen him so far, he’d been struck mute. This was, in part, due to the fact that Harry was, admittedly, extremely attracted to the gorgeous bastard – but mostly because Draco now seemed to be much _less_ of a bastard. He still didn’t know how that had happened, but – having now had some time to consider it – found that he really was not completely surprised. He’d always thought that Draco had the potential to be something more than an arrogant pure-blood prat. After all, Harry’s own father had matured past that. Why couldn’t Draco?

As Harry’s eyes drifted closed, his mind replayed images of Draco; smiling at Teddy, on the train walking confidently into the compartment – and one from his fantasies that brought a smile to Harry’s lips.

oooooooOooooooo

Draco decided to blame Harry Potter for this morning’s foul mood. Last night he’d been all set to sulk over Harry’s rude behavior. The git had not uttered a word to Draco and had been obviously appalled at the idea of spending any time with him at Andromeda’s. Blaise had tried to distract him at dinner, making ridiculous observations about various classmates and staff. Draco had tried to go with it and allow himself be distracted. But what had happened the one time he’d ventured a glance at his hero? The bastard had smiled at him. At least, Draco was fairly certain it was a smile. Potter had looked a bit like someone who was trying out the whole smiling thing for the first time. It looked strained and tight-lipped and just a little bit painful. So Draco had spent a large part of the night rolling about restlessly, going back and forth between ‘smile’ and ‘not-smile.’

Shaking his head at his ridiculous indecision for about the hundredth time that morning, Draco exited his dorm and climbed the stairs from the dungeon with weighted limbs. Fatigue pulled at his body, urging him to – just this once – chuck his duties with Slughorn and crawl back to bed. Not that it would do him any good. All the eighth-years were required to take Muggle Studies as their first class of the day. He was allowed to be a little late if he’d been helping Slughorn – but there would be hell to pay if he skived off the entire class to sleep in.

When Draco had passed his Potions NEWT – with the highest score of any Hogwarts student in recent years – Professor McGonagall had come to him with a proposal. Well, she’d _called_ it a proposal. Horace Slughorn had been persuaded to delay his return to retirement and teach for one more year; however, he had received serious spell damage during the final battle when he’d returned to the school, leading the people of Hogsmeade. Concerns about Professor Slughorn’s health had prompted the Headmistress to provide him with a student assistant. McGonagall had admitted to Draco that she saw this as a way to provide a positive Slytherin presence for the younger students – and, hopefully, would help move the older students of all houses past the divisive attitudes of the past. This was not, of course, her only idea toward that end and Draco had been impressed that the headmistress seemed to have several ideas to promote the building of a true sense of community. Her _proposal_ to make him Slughorn’s student assistant was only one of them.

Whatever she had decided to call it, Draco had recognized the gesture for what it was intended to be: McGonagall’s version of the second chance Dumbledore had offered him that night on the Astronomy Tower. This time he’d taken it with no hesitation. He’d felt no need to go to his parents, as he had with the offer to work with the Weasleys. This was something he had _wanted_ to do – to give back to the school. To make amends for the harm he had done during his sixth year and repair the damage his past actions had caused. For the most part, he felt he was succeeding and rarely second-guessed the decision to accept McGonagall’s proposal. Mornings like this one, however, when he was weary from lack of sleep, had him wishing he could have a lie in instead of helping Professor Slughorn prepare for his classes. And lack of sleep did tend to make Draco… irritable.

He’d just made it into the Entrance Hall and was rounding the great staircase when he heard “Malfoy!” and looked up to find Harry Potter coming down the stairs toward him.

oooooooOooooooo

Though he had been utterly exhausted the night before, rest had not come easily to Harry. He was much too excited to sleep, so he had thrashed about most of the night. He’d finally given it up as a lost cause and determined to rise and get a very early start on the day. After showering and dressing, he’d given in to the urge to touch another marble, hoping it would reveal another wondrous image within it. Instead, he’d been presented a green marble with a lightning bolt inside. The image had left him chilled and feeling a bit betrayed by his father’s gift.

Determined not to allow that ill omen to ruin his first day as a returning student, Harry gathered up his school bag – and the letter he hoped to give to Professor McGonagall – and headed down to the Great Hall to grab some breakfast and wait to receive his class schedule. As fate would have it, Harry had just reached the top of the stairs leading down to the Entrance Hall as Draco Malfoy came into view rounding the bottom of the staircase and heading to the Great Hall. Seeing him reminded Harry of his other mission – talk Draco into coming to Andromeda’s for the weekend. He’d actually attempted to smile at the git last night in the Great Hall – hoping to break the ice he knew he’d inadvertently helped to form. Draco had only looked at him as one might a curiosity of some sort before turning away with a frown. He refused to let that deter him now and called out “Malfoy!” Unfortunately, it was only after hailing Draco that Harry realized he hadn’t actually thought of what else he was going to say to the other wizard.

Draco waited at the bottom of the stairs, surprised that Harry had finally chosen to speak to him and curious as to what, if anything, he was going to say next. As Harry neared him, the look of determination in the green eyes faded somewhat, and the man actually looked a bit dazed. Draco found himself momentarily distracted when Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and stood before him. Potter had grown over the last several months, and though Draco was still a couple of inches taller, they were closer in height than they had ever been in the past. Draco managed to stop himself from calculating the distance and necessary incline required if he decided to lean in and place a kiss on Harry’s very tempting lips. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow and, since Harry and fallen mute once more, simply said, “Potter.”

Harry silently cursed Malfoy for politely standing there all expectant and… smoldering. Why couldn’t the bastard just glare at him or toss out those cruel Malfoy taunts like he used to? This calm, mature Malfoy – who everyone seemed to like – made Harry exceedingly uneasy. And those grey eyes – they were definitely smoldering – the way they seemed to caress Harry’s lips with just a glance. That was bold! The old, angry Malfoy never looked at Harry’s lips that way – the way that was making his knees feel a bit weak and his thoughts begin to fly out of his brain. He’d better just fucking say something before he ended up _doing_ something foolish.

“Andromeda wants you at her house this weekend!” he blurted and watched all that was smoldering before instantly cool as the Malfoy sneer finally asserted itself.

“So she said. And as I have already asserted, I have other matters to attend to.” He was disappointed that Harry had finally broken his silence in this manner, but not particularly surprised.

One did not lightly cross one of the Black sisters. Andromeda was warmer than his mother, and definitely saner than Bellatrix, but she undoubtedly possessed the Black temper. Draco knew from personal experience that life was much easier when one agreed with her – and quickly – rather than to try to argue. And he could imagine that Harry was indeed anxious to avoid Andromeda’s displeasure – so much so that he was willing to accost Draco in this abrupt manner. Well… Draco wasn’t anxious to risk her displeasure either – but that didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for the hero.

Harry had intended to smile at Draco, show he was being friendly, and inquire after his health and well-being. He’d thought he’d try to engage him in conversation a few times before he broached the subject of Andromeda’s “request.” True, Harry admitted, he hadn’t approached Draco in the friendly way he’d intended. But that didn’t give the git the right to be a bastard – dismissing him coldly. Bastard! “Don’t be a bastard about it, Malfoy!” Oops… more blurting.

The pale eyebrow arched higher. “Despite your amazing powers of persuasion, I am unmoved.” Draco made to brush past Harry but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Draco’s words seemed chipped from a block of ice and Harry knew he’d botched it. Draco would never come to Andromeda’s now. But Harry also knew he couldn’t let him go without apologizing. He really didn’t want the two of them to return to their previous animosity.

“Wait!” Harry still had no idea what to say and couldn’t quite meet Draco’s gaze as he mumbled, “Sorry. I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean… you’re not a bastard…”

Oh. No wonder the git had been silent. Draco had forgotten that Potter was often incapable of coherent speech. Now he was muttering and blushing and – though Draco wanted to kick himself for thinking it – was utterly adorable. He decided to take pity on the idiot. “Well, I _can_ be a bastard. Have been – frequently to you,” Draco admitted, and was more than a little pleased when Potter’s lovely green eyes, wide with surprise, lifted to meet his.

“I’m sorry – I’m just not used to… talking to you. And, you know, not yelling.” Harry’s mouth stumbled over the words, but he was relieved that Draco’s cold demeanor seemed to be thawing a bit. “And, I guess I have been, too. A bastard. To you. In the past.” Harry knew he really should just stop talking until he could form complete sentences – but with the way Draco’s lips were curling into a smirky kind of smile and making Harry’s stomach flutter, he wasn’t sure when that would be.

“Not really,” Draco allowed generously. “You tended to be more… righteously indignant. You never really had the knack for bastardry.”

Though he knew Malfoy was trying to be friendly – in a sideways, smirky, sort of condescending Malfoy way – Harry couldn’t help but feel a little indignant. He thought that Draco, of all people, understood that he wasn’t some one-dimensional, perfect little hero. “I can be a bastard!” he insisted.

“Of course, Potter. Didn’t mean to imply you were incapable.” Had he just reassured Harry Potter that he could, indeed, be a bastard? Draco stopped just short of shaking his head at the absurdity of it. Normal conversations with Potter might be unlikely to occur – given the endearing idiot’s apparent inability to express coherent thought – but he supposed it could only make the attempt more interesting.

“Um… no – that’s okay. I suppose you were only trying to be… polite.” Harry furrowed his brow. “I guess… this is just something different – for us, I mean. We’ve never just talked before.” Harry was pleased that he managed to get at least one complete sentence out.

“It is different,” Draco agreed. “But it’s time for it, don’t you think?” Harry nodded his agreement, and his hint of a smile made Draco feel bold. He knew that by flirting with his ‘heterosexual hero’ he was only setting himself up for disappointment. Still, Draco couldn’t stop himself from leaning in just a bit and, in a husky, conspiratorial near-whisper, said, “Perhaps we should practice… just talking.”

The flutter in Harry’s stomach morphed into a full-blown somersault. No one’s voice had ever had that effect on him – until now. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “Maybe we should.” Then Draco smirked again, and Harry thought it was quite unfair that the git had somehow managed to turn that expression from irritating to intriguing. Despite the fact that he knew it was too soon to ask again about the weekend, that smirk seemed to be urging him on. “So… how about this weekend – at Andromeda’s?”

Harry’s uncertainty was sweet and Draco was tempted to vow that he’d follow him anywhere. Instead he adopted a solemn expression and said, “I’ll consider it.” Then he moved around Harry and walked confidently toward the Great Hall – certain that Harry couldn’t see his grin when he heard the muttered “bastard” behind him.

oooooooOooooooo

The classes for the Eights were conducted in a manner different from the other years. One of the corridors just off the Entrance Hall had been designated as the Eighth-Year Wing. One of the rooms had been transformed into a lecture hall with ascending seating facing a large canvas that was sort of a cross between a wizarding portrait and a Muggle movie screen. Depending on their daily schedules, the teachers either came in person to deliver their lectures or sent an image of themselves to give the lecture from the magical canvas. All of the Eights gathered there as a single group for the lecture portion of a class, then were divided into smaller groups and classrooms for their practicals. There were exceptions, of course. Because of the items required for classroom activities, Potions, Herbology, and Astronomy had to be held in the original classrooms.

For the most part, Draco liked his schedule, and he was anxious to see which practicals he would have with Harry. He had seen McGonagall hand Harry his schedule at breakfast and watched as he gave her a document in turn. He’d had to leave just as Harry had begun to discuss his schedule with his friends. Draco’s assistant duties did not allow him time to linger over breakfast. Professor Slughorn almost always managed to think of a few things for him to do before classes started each day – despite Draco’s best efforts to have things all in order by the end of the previous day. And there were some days that, due to his poor health, he asked Draco to stay and help with the first-years’ classes.

This morning, however, Professor Slughorn had sent him on his way – satisfied that all was in order for his class and that, since the first-year students would not be brewing at all today, he could manage without his assistant. As Draco hurried back up to the Eighth-year Wing, he wondered why the old man couldn’t have sent him a message. He didn’t think he’d be too late for class, but if he’d known Slughorn hadn’t needed him at all, he could have already been sitting in the lecture hall. Watching Harry. He entered the room just as Professor Richards, who always gave his lectures in person, was beginning class. Draco slipped into a seat on the end of the last occupied row and settled in. As soon as he thought he could do so surreptitiously, he looked about for his hero… and found Harry watching him.

oooooooOooooooo

As Harry gathered his books to leave Charms – his last practical of the day – he was fairly humming with excitement. He was elated to be back at Hogwarts amongst his friends. He really liked the way the eighth-year classes were organized. Best of all, he had reason to hope that the proposal he had given to Professor McGonagall might have a good chance of being considered. Since it concerned his future, he was certainly invested in its approval.

The first class of the day had been Muggle Studies. There hadn’t seemed to be any assigned seats, and Harry had been pleased to note that the students did not group themselves by house. His dorm-mates had told him of some of McGonagall’s efforts to create a less divided community, and looking about the lecture hall, it was apparent that they had been effective. The atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable, and students from all houses interacted easily. Admittedly, though, he had been surprised to see Neville sitting by Blaise Zabini. It was that pairing that made him realize that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Harry had whispered to Ron.

After a cursory glance about the room, Ron had shrugged and said, “Probably with Slughorn.”

“Why? I thought everyone had to take Muggle Studies.”

“Oh, yeah, they do. Malfoy is one of the student assistants – like Neville.” When Harry had just stared at him in surprise, Ron had realized they had forgotten to mention this policy. “A few of the Eights serve as student assistants. Malfoy’s in Potions, and Slughorn usually has something for him to do before classes start. Neville’s in Herbology. There are a few others. Hey! I’ll bet when you pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT you could ask to assist Professor Merrihew.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Harry had been keenly interested to hear about the student assistants since that had been part of the proposal he had given to Professor McGonagall. His school in Australia had a similar policy and he had served in that capacity for the Quidditch coach there. He was hoping to continue that here and was pleased to know that the practice had already been implemented.

He certainly didn’t want to work with the DADA professor, though. He had been a little surprised that Ron had even suggested it. Since he didn’t want to discuss that with his friend just yet, he had decided to change the subject. “I wouldn’t have expected to find everyone so willing to take a Muggle Studies class.”

Ron had smirked. “I know who you’re thinking of. Actually, some of us have gone to McGonagall to ask her to have a similar policy for a Wizard Studies class.”

“ _You_ went to McGonagall to ask for Muggle-borns to have to attend a wizarding class?” Harry had been floored.

Ron had regarded him seriously. “It’s only fair, Harry. Not everyone is like Hermione and has read every available book on being a witch or wizard before they get to Hogwarts. I’ll bet you would have benefitted from a class on the wizarding world when you first got here.”

Harry couldn’t deny that. “So, is there a Wizard Studies class?”

“Not yet,” Ron had said. “But it’s in the works. They’re trying to decide if it should be its own class or incorporated into the new curriculum of the History of Magic class. They’ll definitely have it in place for next year. In the meantime, the school is offering a series of lectures on wizarding culture that the students can attend. We have them right here in the lecture hall two or three evenings a month. We usually have a pretty good turnout, too.”

Professor Richards had entered at that point and called the class to order. Harry had turned with the others to settle into their seats and listen to the lecture. The door opening at the back of the room distracted him, however, and he watched as Draco hurried into the room and took a seat behind everyone else. Harry had noted that his cheeks were a bit flushed and realized he had probably been hurrying to make it to class on time. Once more he was struck by the way things had changed; Draco Malfoy had been hurrying to get to a class on Muggle Studies.

Just then Draco had glanced his way, and Harry realized he had been caught staring. He’d had to resist the urge to snap his head back to the instructor and pretend he hadn’t been looking. Instead, he smiled at Draco – and reckoned he must have done a better job at it than he had at dinner last night. This time, instead of looking at him in confusion, Draco had given him a small smile in return. Though Harry was pleased by that, he could have done without the return of that fluttery feeling in his stomach.

Now, perhaps since Draco hadn’t been in this last class with him, the fluttery feeling had subsided – much to Harry’s relief. It was stupid anyway. He shouldn’t feel fluttery about Draco Malfoy. Even if the git _was_ gorgeous and, evidently, not so much of a git anymore, Harry knew that nothing would ever happen between them – even though Draco liked blokes… and Harry liked blokes… and even though Draco had figured prominently and repeatedly in Harry’s fantasies for some time now. Just because you wank over a bloke doesn’t mean you’d ever be able to have a relationship with him.

Harry shook his head and gave a little laugh at his own expense. Where had that thought even come from? He could barely string a sentence together in the man’s presence. Despite Draco’s new affability, they still had nothing in common. Harry decided he should just focus on trying to get Draco to Andromeda’s. If they learned to communicate more easily and became friends, that was probably the best he could hope for.

And Harry held on to that thought right up until Justin Finch-Fletchley started fawning over Draco in the Eighth-year Lounge.

oooooooOooooooo

All student assistants spent an hour after classes with their assigned instructors. For Draco, that usually meant learning what Professor Slughorn wanted him to prepare ahead of time for the next day’s classes. Sometimes Slughorn asked him to make arrangements to be on hand for particular classes – an extra pair of eyes was always appreciated when the students would be brewing. Though it usually meant that Draco would have to miss one or more of his own classes, he enjoyed this part of his assistant duties. He often helped out in the classes for the younger years, since that was where potions mishaps were most likely to occur. Sometimes, however, Slughorn even had him helping with the older years –even eighth-year – when they were scheduled to brew some of the more difficult potions. Draco had been surprised to discover he truly enjoyed helping the other students.

Today Professor Slughorn had wanted to discuss the brewing he had planned for the month. While Draco always found this interesting, it invariably led to an inventory of the supply cupboard to make certain they had plenty of the required ingredients on hand. This usually meant at least two tedious evenings spent in the cupboard cataloguing lacewing flies and sopophoros beans. Though the process itself could actually be done in one evening, Draco had to work around his own class schedule and the time needed to complete his lessons.

But for now, since Slughorn had dismissed him, Draco had a little time off before supper and headed to the Eighth-year Lounge. As he walked briskly through the corridors, he passed members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, just coming in from practice for the upcoming game with Ravenclaw. Draco missed Quidditch. Though pickup games among the Eights were common, they were not allowed to play on house teams. McGonagall wanted to respect the traditional role of the seventh-years – particularly since there would only be this one eighth-year group and then the seventh-years would once again be the oldest students. Most of the Eights were willing to resign themselves to this Quidditch policy since so many other benefits were made available to them.

Professor McGonagall acknowledged that the eighth-year students were young adults – many of whom had fought a war. Under normal circumstances, they would have been out of school and starting careers, continuing advanced studies, or marrying and starting families. In deference to that, they had no curfew and could leave the school on weekends. They had areas of the castle set aside specifically for their use – including the lounge and a bath to rival the elegance of the one set aside for prefects. And now – with Harry’s return – those pickup games might actually be a little more enjoyable. That thought had Draco smiling as he walked into the Eighth-year Lounge. He spotted Blaise talking to Neville Longbottom – truly one of the most surprising friendships of the postwar era – and walked over to join them.

The Eights had made it their collective habit to meet in the lounge before supper and walk as a group to the Great Hall. Draco had noticed that the Headmistress often beamed with pride when they all entered together. He was sure they made quite a show of the solidarity she had hoped to inspire. At first he had thought it a little odd that, despite spending most of the day together in classes, they would all gather socially before dinner. Draco supposed it was the common experience of their disrupted final year during the war and the uncertainty many of them had felt upon returning that had led to the unusual bond the Eights seemed to share. He was grateful for it, though, knowing that this year easily could have been long and miserable if his classmates had decided to hold a grudge against him and his war-time behavior.

As he made his way across the room, Draco noted that Harry stood talking with Susan Bones and Dean Thomas. Harry was laughing at something Susan had said, and Draco felt a pang of something that seemed to be more disappointment than jealousy. Was Susan Bones going to be Ginny Weasley’s replacement? Draco took a deep breath and forced the smile back onto his face as he reached his friends.

“How is it that you’re always the last to return from your assistant duties?” Blaise asked Draco as he joined them. “I’m beginning to think you prefer Slughorn’s company to ours. Has he finally made you a member of the Slug Club, then?”

“Yes, I’m chairman now – didn’t you know?” Draco quipped. “Blaise makes a good point, though, Longbottom. Do you do any _real_ work for Professor Sprout?”

Neville chuckled. “Not really. We mainly spend the time making lists of suggested tasks for you that we then send to Slughorn,” Neville teased. “He really seems to appreciate our efforts.”

Blaise was wearing a rather evil smirk and gazing over Draco’s shoulder. Before Draco could turn to see what had captured his attention, Blaise said, “Here comes your Hufflepuff.”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes, but managed to stop his posture from falling into a beleaguered slump. “He’s not my Huff-”

“Hello, Draco,” Justin Finch-Fletchley breathed as he stepped well into Draco’s personal space. Seemingly as an afterthought, he mumbled a greeting to Blaise and Neville but didn’t take his eyes off Draco.

Finch-Fletchley, like Harry and Ron, had missed the entire seventh year. As a Muggle-born, he could not safely attend Hogwarts after Voldemort had taken over the Ministry. He and his family had actually left England, but returned once Voldemort had been defeated. Since the beginning of the year, Justin had seemed determined to embrace McGonagall’s ideals of solidarity by pursuing Draco Malfoy. Somehow, the fact that Draco’s family had been firmly entrenched with the side that wanted to kill him for being a Muggle-born did not deter Justin from his rather single-minded pursuit.

Draco couldn’t think of anything he had done to encourage Justin’s attentions. He had been polite, of course, at first – not wishing to draw negative attention to himself. As the year had proceeded, Draco had continued to be _mostly_ polite, but he had never returned any of Justin’s flirtatious advances. It wasn’t that the other wizard was unattractive or – as might be assumed – that Draco was somehow put off by the fact that he was Muggle-born. In truth, Justin Finch-Fletchley simply paled in comparison to Harry Potter. And even though he knew it was foolish, it was a comparison Draco could not fail to make.

As often happened when Justin began to chatter about something that Draco had no interest in whatsoever – and standing far too close while doing so – he began to experience the perverse desire to push up his sleeve and flash the mark that Voldemort had left there in an effort to, once and for all, frighten Justin off. It wasn’t a true Dark Mark – that had been reserved for only the most favored of Voldemort’s followers. Draco’s service to the Dark Lord had been a punishment for his father’s failure – and Voldemort had made certain that Draco understood his disgraced status.

Draco’s fingers were just creeping toward his sleeve, perhaps to finally take that step, when Justin surprised him by throwing an arm around his shoulders and drawing him near.

“Why don’t you join us at the Hufflepuff table this evening, Draco? We’re all such a tight group these days – I don’t know why McGonagall insists that we sit at our house tables for meals. Silly, don’t you think?” Justin asked.

Draco twisted out of Justin’s embrace and stepped away. “No. I find I quite agree with the Headmistress on this issue. We should spend some time with our younger housemates, and meals are an obvious opportunity for that.”

Not taking the hint, Justin moved closer to Draco again. “I suppose,” Justin said, a hint of petulance in his voice. He licked his lips and looked just ready to try another tack, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Harry Potter.

“Hi.” Harry greeted them collectively and nodded to each. Neville and Blaise greeted him in return, and he thought Justin might have mumbled something, but Harry was focused on the smile Draco was giving him. He was fairly certain the smile was directed his way, since Draco hadn’t appeared to be very happy before Harry’s arrival. Hoping that meant that Draco was not interested in Justin’s efforts to gain his attention, Harry felt emboldened to ask, “Draco, I was wondering if you had a few moments to, um, practice. Would this be a good time?”

Like the consummate Slytherin he was, Draco moved quickly to take advantage of this golden opportunity. “Certainly, Harry.” He returned Harry’s familiar greeting and thrilled a bit at the way they easily said each other’s name. “This would be a perfect time.” Draco touched Harry’s arm and gestured toward the mullioned window several paces away.

Harry knew he was blushing and could feel the stares of the other three as he and Draco left the group. He was sure Neville and Blaise were incredulous. Justin was sputtering some protestation, but no one seemed to be paying him any heed. Harry’s heart was racing at his own boldness – or perhaps the continued heat of Draco’s hand on his arm as they walked toward the window.

They settled into the comfortable window seat, and Harry tried to ignore the stares of – seemingly – everyone else in the room. He hadn’t really thought this through – he’d only wanted to get Draco away from Justin. His Gryffindor impulsivity hadn’t factored in that all their year mates would be watching. Really, though, why were they all staring? He and Draco were just talking... Oh.

“I reckon they’re all wondering if we’re going to start yelling or throwing punches,” Harry said, addressing Draco but still looking out at their peers.

“Well, I suppose we could start making out instead,” Draco whispered. That had the desired effect of gaining Harry’s full attention – but the panicked look was back. “Don’t worry, Harry. I was only kidding.” And he was. Draco would never try to make out with Harry _in front_ of all these people. Knowing he’d never have an opportunity to do so in any situation dimmed his smile a bit, but he still managed a half-grin.

Harry knew he was blushing furiously and wished fervently that there was a wandless, silent spell to make it stop. He thought Draco might have been flirting with him, but then Draco had said he was just kidding and now looked as if he was regretting his comment. Harry wanted to kick himself. Just because Draco was also gay didn’t mean he’d ever be interested in Harry. They had too much of a turbulent past to overcome, didn’t they? Hoping to reassure Draco, Harry said, “Oh – I know that. Don’t worry.” He managed a somewhat pathetic little laugh. “Us – making out. Yeah – that would be funny!”

And then the awkward silence began as each young man was lost in disappointment and completely wrong in their assumptions of what the other was thinking. Draco, more versed in making polite conversation in uncomfortable social situations, finally said, “How was your first day, Harry?”

The breath he hadn’t realized he was holding came out a bit more forcefully than he had intended, but Harry did manage to respond. “Good. It was good.”

“Good,” Draco responded, and another awkward silence threatened. “Was your school in Australia very different?”

Harry was completely distracted by the fact that Draco’s half-grin had further deteriorated and was now no more than a tight-lipped grimace pretending to be a smile. He really wished he could say something to make the smile return – but instead just blurted something absently. “Warmer. Um – it was warmer there.”

Draco blinked. He supposed if they were going to discuss weather this conversation had reached bottom in record time. “You know – I was actually inquiring about your classes.”

Slumping back against the window, Harry once more looked out across the room. He was relieved to note that most of their classmates had returned to their own conversations and were no longer watching him and Draco. Turning once more to the wizard sitting beside him, he said, “I know. I just… this is harder than I thought it would be. Talking to you.” Harry hurriedly added, “I want to talk to you, though!” Finally Draco’s smile began to return. Harry felt a rush of relief and answered with a small smile of his own.

“Further proof that more practice is required, then,” Draco said, feeling rewarded when Harry’s smile brightened. “Perhaps it would be easier if we weren’t being watched.”

“Absolutely! I hate being watched. I mean, I’m more used to it now, but I still hate it. That was one nice thing about Australia. I could just be me.” Harry stopped when he noticed Draco grinning at him. “What?”

“I think that’s the most you’ve said to me in one go,” Draco said. Leaning in a bit, he added, “Could mean that this practicing thing is working, don’t you think?”

Harry could feel his heartbeat quicken when Draco leaned toward him. It was almost as if they were about to kiss. Swallowing around the dryness in his throat, Harry whispered, “Yeah, I think it is.”

“Time to go!” someone called, and Harry and Draco turned to see that their classmates were beginning to file out of the room. They stood and both turned to the other, but neither seemed to know what to say next.

“So, all done ‘practicing,’ then?” Blaise grinned when Harry and Draco both jumped at his words. They’d been so intent on gazing at each other that his approach had gone unnoticed.

Not too surprisingly, Draco recovered first. “For now, yes,” he said, turning to Blaise. He could practically see the wheels turning in his friend’s brain and knew he would be grilled over dinner. Addressing Harry again, he said, “Shall we go?”

Harry nodded and, giving each Slytherin a smile, walked ahead of them toward Neville, who was waiting by the door. He completely missed the exchange of the two behind him. Blaise was wiggling his eyebrows and mouthing ‘Practicing??’ but Draco just elbowed him and walked quickly after Harry.

oooooooOooooooo

Harry didn’t really remember the walk back from the headmistress’s office to the Gryffindor common room. He was too elated from meeting with Professor McGonagall. He’d received a message from her during the evening meal saying she wished to discuss the proposal he had made. After two hours of discussion with her and Madam Hooch, Harry was now the Student Assistant to the Quidditch Coach. He would also be in charge of special sessions for those first-years who were still struggling to learn the basics of flying. This was just what he had hoped for. Though the headmistress had held off on agreeing to the other changes he had proposed – ones that would secure his position as Assistant Flying Instructor under Madam Hooch once he completed his own education – he had been encouraged when his coach had winked a yellow eye at him as he was leaving.

The Gryffindor common room was still fairly packed with some of the older students when he arrived. None of his dorm mates were there, though, and Harry had really hoped to tell them his news. He supposed he should have gone to the Eighth-year Lounge. He saw Ginny, though, and definitely needed to talk to her. He walked quickly over her and, drawing her aside, pulled her into a quiet corner away from the other students.

“Mr. Potter,” Ginny said with a saucy smirk, “I thought the days of you trying to get me into dark, cozy places were long gone.”

Harry blinked at her for a moment as he took in how their situation, sitting close on a small couch in a darkened corner, must appear to the others in the room. And, indeed, there were those who were taking notice. Harry sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t think. I just need to talk to you.”

Ginny laughed. “So I gathered. What’s up?”

“Well, that’s what I want to know.” Harry scooted a bit closer, heedless of how it might look to anyone else, and whispered, “You said you had information for me?”

“Ah – my reconnaissance. I wondered when you’d be asking about it.” Ginny wiggled around a bit to get more comfortable. “Do you just want the general overview or is there… specific information you’re interested in?”

Harry hesitated only a moment. “What’s going on with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Draco Malfoy?”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up a bit. “Well, if you’re interested in Justin – forget it. Total hard-on for Malfoy.” When Harry continued to just look at her intently, Ginny sighed. “Seriously, Harry? Malfoy?”

“Well, not necessarily,” he hedged. “I’m just curious.” Harry could see that Ginny was not convinced. “He seems so different, don’t you think?”

Ginny sighed again. “You’ve only been back for two days, Harry. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to set your sights on one person? Especially Malfoy?”

“So, you don’t think he’s changed?” Harry asked softly, his disappointment obvious.

“It’s not that,” Ginny said. “Yes, I would say he has… changed. I think he’s grown up. And he regrets the way he behaved before.” She hesitated. “But he’s Slytherin, so it’s really hard to tell. And he’s _Malfoy_ , Harry! Couldn’t you consider – I don’t know – Anthony Goldstein or maybe Kevin Ellinshaw? Or even Theodore Nott if you insist on a Slytherin?”

Harry grimaced. “It doesn’t matter. Draco would probably never be interested in me anyway. I mean – there have been a couple of times when I thought he was, you know, flirting. But I reckon there’s just too much past shit between us. We really have nothing in common.”

Ginny first looked at him in disbelief and then shook her head. “I know I’m going to regret this. Okay – how can you seriously believe that Malfoy would never be interested in you? That shit between you? My god, Harry, that’s what makes the two of you…” Ginny sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m even going to say this.” Now she looked very directly at Harry. “That’s what makes the two of you so perfect for each other. It’s like… like you’re woven around each other.”

He moved his mouth to say something, but wasn’t sure how to voice his thoughts. Woven together? Thoughts and images began to flow through Harry’s mind. Perhaps he had never thought of it in quite that way, but there was a part of him that had long believed that he and Draco Malfoy were somehow necessary to each other.

“I could always see it. Even when everyone was saying that you and I were destined to be together and all that. I always thought that – if there was anyone whose destiny was tied to yours – it was Draco Malfoy. Of course, I didn’t think of it in terms of romance.” Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, I should have seen this one coming.”

Harry huddled into the sofa, rested his head on the back and stared at the ceiling. “I think you’re wrong, Ginny. Draco… maybe he’s flirted a little, but it’s not like he’s made any big moves.”

“Big moves?” Ginny laughed, and Harry lifted his head from the back of the sofa to glare at her. “Sorry. But really, Harry, you’ve only been back two days. He’s barely had time to adjust to the fact that you’re gay. Maybe he’s assuming you’d never want anything to do with _him_.”

Harry sat up quickly. “What do you mean – he’s barely had time to adjust to me being gay?”

Ginny’s brow furrowed a bit. “Well… you said he had flirted with you. So… you must have told him you’re gay. Right?” When Harry just remained silent, Ginny shook her head at him. “You’re never going to get any play if you don’t let people know that you’re gay, Harry.”

“Well, I thought they knew. It’s been over six months since you found me with – um – Charlie.” Harry watched her eyes narrow and knew he’d made a misstep. He didn’t have to wait long for her to enlighten him.

“Are you saying that since I’ve known you were gay for six whole months that – by now – the whole wizarding world must know about it, too? What do you think I did, Harry? Took out an advertisement in the _Daily Prophet_??”

“No! Ginny – I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it that way!” Harry impulsively grabbed her hand and was relieved, and surprised, when she didn’t snatch it back. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Harry turned to her. “I guess I was hoping maybe you did tell someone. Everyone. That the whole ‘holy shit, Harry Potter’s gay!’ thing would be old news by now. I’m sorry. That was unfair of me – to try to put that on you.”

“You’re right, Harry. That was unfair. First of all, you’re my friend, and I keep my friends’ confidences. Second, this is your business – your very personal business. It’s your place to decide who to tell and how to tell them.” Ginny sighed. “But I understand. Everything you do is news. I know you hate the attention.”

“Yeah. I was enjoying how quiet it’s been since I’ve been back. I suppose this will change all that.” Harry looked down at their hands. “Thank you for being the kind of friend you are, Ginny. I don’t deserve you.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. You deserve plenty. And I guess if you think part of that is Draco Malfoy… I hope it works out. Ginny reached up and cupped his chin to make sure she had his attention. “But, Harry – you’re going to have to tell him if you want anything else to happen.”

Harry huffed out a little laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Ginny.” He kissed her cheek, and she hugged him close for a few moments.

“I am right. Always,” Ginny said as she stood. Then she winked at him and walked toward her dorm, ignoring the curious stares of her housemates.

oooooooOooooooo

Harry’s second day of classes had been as enjoyable as the first, and he couldn’t help the smile that played about his lips as he walked the corridors of the ancient school. He’d had his first meeting with Madam Hooch to discuss his assistant duties, and tomorrow he would have his first tutoring session with the first-years who, according to Madam Hooch, were “flight challenged.”

It was quite late now, and Harry was indulging in an activity he had sorely missed: creeping about the castle after hours. Except – he wasn’t actually creeping, and it wasn’t really after hours. Since the Eights had no curfew, he was allowed to be out as late as he wanted – so there was no need to sneak around. Out of habit, he’d thrown his invisibility cloak and the Marauder’s Map into his school bag, and he was now happily roaming the hallways. He did glance at the map from time to time. Roaming was something Harry had always enjoyed as a solitary activity, and he wanted to avoid the few other people who were still moving about the castle.

In all honesty, though, there was one person he wouldn’t mind running into. The map had indicated that Draco was in the Potions lab, and Harry reckoned he was working on a project for Professor Slughorn. Since Harry was currently on the main level of the castle, though, he doubted he’d see Draco this evening. Once he left the Potions lab, Draco would probably stay in the dungeons since that was the location of the Slytherin dorm.

A glance at the map indicated that the Eighth-year Lounge was finally empty. Many of the Eights used the lounge as a place to study as well as socialize. Harry had noted earlier that Parvati Patil, Theo Nott, and Anthony Goldstein remained for quite some time after everyone else had left. Parvati had left about 10:30. When he looked again at the map about an hour and a half later, he noticed that only Anthony and Theo remained in the lounge. Harry remembered that Ginny had mentioned the two of them when she had tried to dissuade him from his interest in Draco, and he wondered if perhaps their affections were already fixed on each other.

That thought had led him to Draco again. Well, to be honest, all his thoughts seemed to lead him to Draco. Harry glanced again at the map and saw that Draco was still in the Potions lab and wondered how often assistant duties kept him working this late. Although… Draco _had_ told Andromeda that he had other projects to attend to. Perhaps his late night toil had something to do with that. Harry considered going to the lab to see if he could offer his assistance, but he knew that was a completely ludicrous thought. No help existed that Harry could possibly offer Draco when it came to potions. He admitted to himself that he was really just looking for an opportunity to talk to Draco about more personal matters, but he knew that would be a conversation better broached in the privacy of Andromeda’s home.

Instead of the Potions lab, Harry headed to the lounge thinking about the limited interaction he and Draco had that day. They’d barely had time to exchange words, and – regrettably – no time for practicing conversation. Harry really didn’t want to have this particular conversation in the presence of their peers anyway. If he was unable to arrange some private ‘practice time,’ he had decided he’d address the subject of their common inclination this weekend at Andromeda’s – assuming Draco relented and agreed to come. Harry still wasn’t convinced that Draco would be interested in him, despite Ginny’s assertions to the contrary – all the more reason to wait for the weekend at Andromeda’s home.

Harry entered the lounge and settled into one of the comfortable couches, propping his feet on the low table before him. He placed the map on the cushion beside him, leaving it open so that he could keep an eye on things. He pulled the cloak from his bag and tossed it on the end of the couch, then reached in again to pull out the only remaining item: the leather pouch containing his marbles.

Very gently, he shook the marbles from the pouch onto the surface of the map. They pooled in the middle, and Harry very carefully rolled the ones with the images away from the others. The green marble with the lightning bolt he immediately dropped back into the pouch. That one still made him uncomfortable. He picked up the stag and lily next, smiling as always when he touched them. After a moment, he slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. He knew he’d want to look at them once more before he put the rest away. Next Harry rolled the marble he had first touched last night after he’d spoken to Ginny. The flames within flashed at him as he maneuvered it away from the still-black marbles.

Harry had taken advantage of last night’s privacy in the empty dorm to touch this marble – hoping the image within would be something positive to erase the eerie feeling he got from the lightning bolt. With the additional need to distract himself from worrying about Draco, he had lifted the marble, anxious to observe the change. At his touch, flames had leapt within the sphere, and Harry had initially feared he would see Vincent Crabbe burning in the fiendfyre. He had been quite relieved when a phoenix had risen from the flames.

Sitting now in the lounge, Harry watched the phoenix flying about within the sphere, then disappearing into the flames to rise again moments later, and he wondered again at the significance of the image. Yes, he had felt a bond with Fawkes. And Dumbledore himself had once appeared to become the phoenix to avoid arrest. Perhaps the bird was a representation of the headmaster. Certainly the man had been an important figure in Harry’s life. He watched the bird fly a moment more and then placed the phoenix marble on the table in front of him, settling it into a groove in the wood to prevent it rolling away.

He’d activated another marble just this morning, and it made him smile again now as he lifted it away from the others. The marble was Gryffindor red, and frolicking within it were three small lion cubs. Harry had immediately made the association. The lion cubs were him and Ron and Hermione – friends from childhood all sorted into Gryffindor. Most of the marbles had contained a single image. This one with three had been harder to see at first, but Harry found that as he had concentrated on the marble the images became much clearer and seemed to grow in his vision. The magic used to create the marbles must have been extremely complex, and Harry had quickly realized that this gift had probably been a costly one. His father’s note had mentioned that he thought Sirius was the only one that would really understand about the gift. Harry knew that they had both been raised in privileged, pure-blood families, and that comment seemed to make more sense now.

Harry placed the lion cub marble on the table next to the phoenix. He _had_ planned to wait until tomorrow to reveal the image in another marble, thinking to stick to one a day to draw out the enjoyment of the magic. That plan was not going to last, Harry knew. He had them out now and felt compelled to touch another one to see what image would be revealed.

The black marbles were gathered around the larger grey marble as if drawn by the swirling iridescence within it. Harry was just reaching for one when he noticed movement on the map. Draco was no longer in the dungeon. His dot was moving quickly up the stairs toward the Entrance Hall – and Justin Finch-Fletchley was clearly in pursuit.

Harry snatched up the map, scattering marbles, and grabbed his cloak as he ran toward the door of the lounge. He reached the Entrance Hall at the same time that Draco made it to the top of the stairs. Draco hesitated, clearly surprised to see him. Harry moved forward quickly, grabbing Draco by the arm and pushing him toward a wall. He had just enough time to toss the cloak over Draco and urgently whispered “kneel down” before Justin Finch-Fletchley barreled up over the top of the stairs and crashed into him.

oooooooOooooooo

The collision looked extremely painful from where Draco sat, huddled against the wall. Harry’s glasses had gone flying and blood was flowing from somewhere. Harry was lying flat on his back, and Justin was sprawled atop him. Even from his vantage point Draco could see that Harry was having trouble breathing. He crawled over to the two men and, still under the cover of the cloak, pushed Justin to the side. Just as he’d hoped, the idiot was still too disoriented from the collision to realize that Harry hadn’t been the one to push him aside. With Finch-Fletchley out of the way, Draco crouched closer to Harry, trying to determine the best way to help him.

Draco had been delayed in his inventory of the potions ingredients. Of course, the fact that his mind continually wandered into fantasies of Harry Potter, naked and draped across his bed, had only delayed things further. He had finally finished the inventory and left the list of ingredients that would need to be ordered on Professor Slughorn’s desk.

Despite the late hour, Draco was restless and had headed for the kitchens for a light, late-night snack. Though the kitchens lay in close proximity to the Hufflepuff Dormitory, he had not anticipated running into Justin Finch-Fletchley. At this time of night most students, even the Eights, were back in their dormitories. Fortunately, Draco had spied the other young man before he had been spotted himself. He was just quietly retracing his steps, thinking he’d made good his escape, when Justin had noticed him and called his name. Draco had pretended not to hear, quickly rounded the nearest corner and then broke into a run. It would not do to be caught alone with the amorous Hufflepuff in the dark corridors.

He’d somehow managed to make it to the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall. Draco wasn’t certain where he was going, but he knew that he’d not lost his pursuer. He’d topped the stairs and found Harry Potter bearing down on him. He’d not even had time to utter ‘Finch-Fletchley’ before Harry had grabbed him and pushed him against the wall. He’d instantly realized that the soft fabric Potter had thrown over him had to be the infamous invisibility cloak. He’d noticed that his shoes were still visible at the same instance that Harry had whispered his warning and had managed to crouch down just as Finch-Fletchley reached the top of the stairs and ran right over Harry.

Harry still lay on his back, and Draco was certain that the impact of the collision with either Justin or the stone floor had knocked the breath out of him. The bastard Hufflepuff was moaning loudly and Draco could see that the blood all over the floor was coming from his mouth. He was much more concerned about Harry and was just in the process of preparing the lift the cloak to help him when Headmistress McGonagall rushed into the hall. Harry must have sensed the movement, because he placed a hand on Draco to stop him from revealing himself.

“What has happened here? Mr. Potter? Have you been fighting?” The headmistress helped Justin to his feet and examined his lip. “You’ve put a tooth through your lip, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Can you make it to the infirmary?”

Draco thought McGonagall’s immediate assumption that Harry had been fighting was monumentally unfair. Harry had been rescuing him from that horny Hufflepuff wanker!

Harry was finally sitting up but hadn’t really managed an answer for the headmistress. Finally he squeaked out something that sounded like “No,” and McGonagall turned to regard him more closely. Through a series of shaky hand gestures and wheezed words, Harry was able to convey that they had been coming from two different directions and had simply collided.

When she turned back to Justin for verification, she noticed that he had gone extremely pale and was staring at all the blood. Evidently, Justin didn’t take well to the sight of blood, and McGonagall was able to cast a timely _Mobilicorpus_ just as the young man swooned. She turned back to Harry, who was now breathing easier and had no obvious injuries. “Are you alright then, Harry?” Her tone was not unkind, and Draco realized she had probably just been frightened before.

“Yes,” he said, getting to his feet. “Just had the breath knocked out of me. I’m okay now.”

She nodded. “Very well. Find your glasses and get to your dorm.”

“What about all this,” Harry asked, indicating the blood.

“I’ll let Mr. Filch know. Go on, then.” She started up the stairs, Justin’s inert body floating beside her.

“I’ve left some things in the lounge, Professor. I need to get them first,” Harry called after her.

She waved a hand to him over her shoulder by way of giving permission, and Harry turned to look for his glasses. Draco’s hand suddenly appeared, holding the glasses out to him. Harry glanced quickly toward the stairs to make certain that the headmistress had moved on. He bent and took the glasses and then grabbed Draco’s hand to help him up. He didn’t let go, but led Draco out of the Entrance Hall and into the corridor beyond.

Draco slipped the cloak off and stopped, pulling Harry to a halt beside him. “Are you really okay?” he asked.

With his free hand – the one not held by Draco’s – Harry rubbed the back of his head and rolled his shoulders a bit. “Yeah. That stone floor is hard, though. Come on,” he said and tugged Draco down the corridor and into the lounge.

Harry released Draco’s hand and placed the map and the cloak onto the table where, he was pleased to note, the phoenix and lion cub marble still lay. When he turned back to Draco, he found him staring very intently at him and looking just a bit sheepish.

“Thank you,” Draco said. “You rescued me. Again.”

“Had to,” Harry said. “Hufflepuffs are dangerous creatures.”

Draco huffed a laugh, but then furrowed his brow and asked, “How did you know?”

“It’s those sharp, badger-like teeth,” Harry said lightly. “Everyone knows Hufflepuffs are vicious.” Despite his attempts to lighten the mood, Harry could feel his stomach starting to turn flips again at the thought of being all alone with Draco in the lounge.

Draco laughed again, enjoying Harry’s lighthearted banter, but didn’t drop the issue. “No,” he said, “how did you know I was there and that someone was following me?”

Harry hesitated a moment, then lifted the map. “This is a map of Hogwarts. Here’s the Eighth-year Lounge. And here we are.” He watched as Draco took it all in, and the emotions played across his face: incredulity, wonder, irritation.

“You sneaky bastard! No wonder you got away with so much.” Draco didn’t look as irritated as he sounded, though, and, when Harry smiled at him, he smiled back in return.

Harry folded up the map and put it back in his bag. Then he turned to the couch and was disheartened to find not a single marble there. He sighed deeply and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth – then sank to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Though fascinated by the torture Harry was inflicting on his unoffending lip, Draco managed to put it aside and ask him what was wrong. Harry looked up at him, clearly uncertain about sharing his worry with Draco.

“Just tell me, Harry. I’ll help you if I can. I owe you after all – vicious Hufflepuffs and all that.”

Harry hesitated only a moment longer, then quietly said, “I’ve lost my marbles.”

Until that moment, Draco thought he’d never really experienced that ‘at a loss for words’ feeling he’d heard others speak of. Now, though, he truly didn’t know what to say. That protective feeling was clearly back, and his little ragamuffin Harry from the robe shop was here before him once more. Except that Harry was no longer a little boy and certainly had learned to dress himself at last. But Harry’s current uncertainty pulled at Draco’s heart. He lowered himself to the floor and sat next to the troubled wizard. “Well, Harry, you’ve… been through a lot – in the last year particularly-” Harry’s laughter silenced the rest of his words – which was just as well because Draco really didn’t know where he had been going with that.

“No,” Harry said, laughter still evident in his voice. “I mean that I have _literally_ lost my marbles.” When Draco continued to stare at him in confusion, Harry pulled the marbles of the lily and stag from his pocket and held them out to the other wizard.

Draco understood at once. “You have marbles. Actual marbles. I see.”

“I have been through a lot this year, though. You’re right about that.” Harry smiled at him and nodded his consent as Draco reached out to take and examine the marbles.

“The lily – for your mother,” Draco said. “And the stag – that was your father’s Patronus, right?”

“And mine, but I think this definitely represents my dad.” Harry realized he had someone who might be able to answer some questions about the marbles. Once he had comprehended that the marbles had likely been an expensive gift, he’d been reluctant to ask Ron about them. He’d considered asking Neville, but hadn’t been ready to talk about them yet. Now, though, he found that he wanted to share this with Draco. “Did you have marbles? When you were little?”

Draco grimaced. “No. Wanted them, though. I begged my mother, but it was one of the few things that my parents refused me. Or maybe I just hadn’t learned how to manipulate them well enough at that age,” he admitted.

“Why wouldn’t they let you have them?” Harry asked.

Draco laughed and indicated his current position. “Because you have to sit on the floor to play marbles, of course! Dreadfully common.” Draco gazed at the marbles, clearly entranced. “Father gave me some rubbish about the marbles being divination after the fact. Said he’d have me taught to read a real crystal ball instead, if I wanted to see images in glass.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. He blushed a little when Draco looked at him in confusion. “I really don’t know much about them. I only received them when I arrived here. They were among my godfather’s personal belongings that the warden of Azkaban released to me.”

“Andromeda told me you’d achieved Sirius Black’s pardon,” Draco said. “That meant a lot to her, you know.”

Harry was surprised by that, but realized he really shouldn’t have been. He’d mainly been thinking of himself when he’d pursued the pardon. He hadn’t thought about how Andromeda might feel. “I’m glad, then.”

“So why did he have your marbles?” Draco asked. “Clearly they’re yours – charmed to show you things from your life.”

“He’d bought them as a favor to my dad. It was supposed to be a Christmas present for me. He had a lock of my hair for the charm.” Harry hesitated a moment, then asked, “How does that work exactly?”

Draco heard the vulnerability in Harry’s voice now and finally understood that Harry was asking for his help. He wondered why some of Harry’s housemates hadn’t explained about the marbles. Even Gryffindor had pure-bloods who should have been familiar with them. Evidently, though, no one had done so, and Draco was glad he could be the one to enlighten Harry about them.

“It’s very strong magic, actually. And quite an expensive toy. Rare, in fact, but I’ll get to that in a moment. They’re a specialty item. The magic requires something of the child – often a lock of hair is used – to create a recognition charm. The marbles recognize only that child and will only change for him.”

“So, if you help me find them – if you touch them – nothing will happen?” Harry asked a little sheepishly.

Draco smiled. “No. The magic only works for you. It’s fairly brilliant, isn’t it? I’ll admit – I’m a little envious.” Draco’s smile faltered a bit. “Though, my marbles probably wouldn’t have shown me very pleasant things. Just as well I didn’t have them, I suppose.”

Draco’s melancholy turn worried Harry. He took Draco’s hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe we should just see if we can find them. You don’t have to tell me anymore.”

“No, Harry. It’s alright. My life has been marked by darkness. I was ugly and unpleasant. A spoiled, foolish child.” Draco determinedly met Harry gaze. “I hope you’ll believe that I’ve grown up since then. I’ve finally learned from my mistakes.”

“I believe you,” Harry said without hesitation. “I do believe you.”

Draco’s smile lit the room. He squeezed Harry’s hand in return and asked, “What else do you want to know?”

“Well… you said your father called them divination after the fact. Is that why the images in my marbles are all things from the past?”

Draco thought about it before he answered. “This is a bit of an odd situation. Most people receive the marbles when they’re children. The images appear _as_ things occur, for the most part.” Harry indicated he didn’t understand, and Draco continued. “For example: The child receives a puppy. That’s a very important thing in the child’s life. The child is deeply affected by it. The magic in the marbles recognize that, so when the child touches one of them, the image of the beloved pet appears.”

“I think I understand,” Harry said, clearly excited to be learning about this unusual gift. “As I touch the marbles, they are pulling things directly from me – almost like a pensive memory.”

“That’s probably a fairly accurate way to describe it, except that the ‘memory’ doesn’t leave you. How many images have the marbles revealed to you?” Draco felt a little awkward as soon as he asked his question – he supposed that was fairly personal.

Harry wasn’t at all put off and answered immediately. “Five so far. I figured out that my touch activated them, so I’ve been careful not to touch them all at once.” He knew he was blushing as he added, “Trying to make it last a bit, you know?”

“That’s understandable,” Draco said. “Most children have the marbles for years before they all ‘activate’ – as you call it. Some people have them into adulthood before they reveal all the images. It really just depends on the person and what happens in his or her life – and how deeply they feel about it.”

“So, mine are kind of catching up with me, then?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded his agreement. “Oh – I actually have six that have changed. The big one doesn’t really show anything; it’s just silver stuff swirling about inside the glass.”

Draco nodded again. “It may be working on something. Something it’s picking up from you that hasn’t fully formed yet.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said. Then the shy smile was back as he asked, “Would you like to see the others?”

“If you want me to see them,” Draco said and was elated when Harry nodded his head and leaned over to retrieve two more marbles he hadn’t noticed on the table in front of them. Harry also picked up a leather pouch.

“The first marble – after the big silver one – was the one of the stag. Then the lily for my mum.” Harry opened the pouch and let a marble roll out onto his hand. “This was the third marble.”

Harry was not smiling now, and Draco knew the third marble had not revealed a pleasant image to him. The green color immediately reminded Draco of the killing curse, and when he saw the lightning bolt, he understood Harry’s change in demeanor. “Put it back in the pouch, Harry.” When Harry had done so, Draco said, “This is one of the reasons the marbles are rare. Sometimes the things that happen to us in childhood are not happy. Many people don’t want to risk giving a child a gift that may remind them of things that have harmed them. The magic in the marbles recognizes strong feelings in the child. Those feelings are not always positive ones. It’s a lot of money to spend on a gift that may upset the child at some point. Some children never look at any of the other marbles – once an unpleasant image appears.”

Harry was silent for a while, obviously lost in thought. “My father probably thought nothing bad was going to happen to me,” Harry said quietly. With a bitter laugh, he added, “He was kind of arrogant.”

Draco huffed. “Look who you’re talking to about arrogant fathers, Harry.”

Harry looked up in surprise, and the two of them just stared at each other for a moment and then started to laugh – genuinely this time. Once the laughter subsided, they were left with soft smiles. “We really do have some things in common, don’t we?”

Unsure where this thought had come from, Draco agreed nonetheless. “I think we have a lot in common. Always have.”

Harry laughed again. “More than you know, Draco,” he said. “More than you know.”

oooooooOooooooo

Harry had shown Draco the two marbles on the table. Draco hadn’t said much about the one with the lion cubs – only that it was not surprising. The phoenix had initiated quite a discussion. Harry tended to agree with Draco that, since the marbles were revealing themselves in chronological order, the phoenix might represent Harry’s wand and, therefore, his re-introduction to the magical world. That would have happened after the lightning bolt and before he had met and befriended Ron and Hermione. Harry wasn’t disappointed that nothing from his time with the Dursleys had appeared in the marbles, but he supposed that might still occur given that he had returned there every year. Draco posited that the time at the Dursley’s was completely Muggle, and the marbles probably needed something magical to read.

They had then set about collecting the other marbles. Draco had vetoed _Summoning_ them because he didn’t want to be pelted by nine marbles coming at him all at once. So, they had gone to their hands and knees to look under and around the couch. Harry was certain he had caught Draco ogling his arse at least three times and found that rather encouraging.

Finally all the black marbles had been collected. They still sat on the floor, facing each other, comfortable and at ease. Before Draco dropped the last one into the pouch, he held it out to Harry.

“Are you sure you don’t want to touch one more?” Draco asked. “It might be a really good one.”

“Yeah, or it might be something like seeing a face growing out of the back of my professor’s head,” Harry said.

Draco paused, once more uncertain what to say. “Well, yes, I suppose it might be something like that. You really have been through some bizarre shit – you know that, right?”

“Yes, I do know that.” Harry sighed. “Alright. Give me that marble. One more for tonight.” He held out his hand, and Draco placed the marble in his palm.

The color quickly faded, then changed to a brilliant sky blue. Flitting about inside the marble was a tiny Snitch. Both Harry and Draco laughed when they saw it. Draco declared it ‘perfect’ and Harry thought that word described Draco when he smiled.

“What about the big marble? The one you keep calling the silver swirly one?” Draco asked.

“ _Summon_ it,” Harry said. “Let’s see how far off your seeker skills have fallen.”

“Very funny, wanker,” Draco said and then called out, “ _Accio Harry’s big, swirly silver marble_!” The glass sphere shot toward Draco, but he easily caught it and smirked at Harry as he held it up to show it off.

Harry started to laugh again but choked a bit when the marble started to spark. Draco, noticing Harry’s expression, looked at the marble in his hand. It was just as Harry had described it – except it now looked as if lightning was flashing within it.

“What’s it doing?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “Wasn’t it doing that before?”

“No!” Harry insisted. “What are you doing to it?”

“I’m not doing anything to it. I’m just holding it. Here – take it!” Draco thrust the marble into Harry’s hand. The sparking ceased, but the silvery substance within seemed to roil instead of the gentle swirling it had exhibited before.

“What do you think it means?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “Maybe it’s just changing in response to whatever it’s picking up from you,” he suggested.

“But I wasn’t touching it – you were.” Harry held the marble up, trying to peer into its depths. It seemed to be settling again – the movement within was slowing. “It was like it was responding to _your_ touch.”

Unable to resist that innocent invitation, Draco leaned toward Harry and whispered, “Maybe it likes my touch.”

Draco’s voice was doing that husky thing, sending Harry’s stomach somersaulting. And he was leaning in again, making Harry think he might kiss him. But he didn’t. He just smirked, and again Harry wondered when that smirk had become so sexy. And why was he always leaning in like that if he wasn’t going to kiss Harry? Gryffindor bravery – sometimes known as impulsivity – kicked in, and Harry threw his arms around Draco’s neck and captured his lips.

The kiss was a bit frantic at first. Draco had definitely been taken by surprise, but he quickly recovered. He returned Harry’s kiss with equal fervor – until it dawned on him that his heterosexual hero’s tongue was currently sliding against his, and Harry’s body seemed to be imitating that movement, rubbing deliciously against him.

“Harry!” Draco broke the kiss but was distracted by Harry’s lips: swollen and wet and parted in invitation. “Harry,” Draco whispered breathlessly. “You… you’re-”

But Draco’s words were lost against Harry’s lips as that determined mouth pressed insistently against his and convinced him that whatever he had been trying to say was completely unimportant. Then Harry made a little whimpering sound and once more thrust his tongue into Draco’s mouth. Draco thought he could feel his insides start to melt at that point and tightened his arms around Harry’s body. Harry shifted to straddle Draco’s lap, and they both gasped when their cocks, still clothed, but hard and sensitive, raked against each other.

Harry clasped his arms around Draco’s neck and hugged him tight. Harry’s wicked lips now brushed against his ear, and Draco could swear his fucking eyelids were tingling in response to the sound of that harsh breath that was tickling his skin.

“Gay,” Harry whispered, his lips caressing the shell of Draco’s ear. He thought he heard Draco mutter ‘what?’ somewhat incoherently and whispered, “I’m gay.” He took Draco’s earlobe into his mouth and allowed his teeth to gently scrape it as he pulled off of it. Draco moaned and bucked against him, and then Harry found himself on his back for the second time that night.

Draco had intended to question Harry about suddenly being gay but completely lost his train of thought when he looked down at Harry lying beneath him. At some point Harry had lost his glasses, and lust had darkened his beautiful green eyes. His tempting lips only became more irresistible when he parted them again to allow a moan to escape when he shifted under Draco, allowing his cock to rub along the hard length of Draco’s erection.

Soft blond hair brushed Harry’s face, and Draco’s breath – exhaled in a hiss when their cocks met – tickled his lips as their mouths sought each other once more. Draco kissed as if he could claim Harry’s soul through that contact alone. While rational thought was somewhat elusive, he began to believe that perhaps Draco had wanted this, dreamed of this, for as long as he had done. Finally having his fantasy lying warm and solid atop him caused his body to shudder with pleasure, and the ache in his groin intensified. Harry brought his legs up to wrap around Draco’s thighs and slid his hands possessively down Draco’s body to grasp his arse in an effort to obtain more of the magnificent friction. The feel of their cocks, rigid and hot, rubbing together, made them each desperate to increase the contact.

Draco rolled his hips but, instead of relieving the ache, the movement only seemed to intensify his desire. He slipped his hand between them and pulled at the fastening of Harry’s jeans. Since his other arm supported him above Harry, the process was awkward – until Harry brought his own hand around to help. Together they managed to open Harry’s jeans and push them down enough to allow Draco to reach in and free his cock. Harry cried out as Draco’s warm hand closed around his hardness, and his hips arched in appreciation of that just-right grip.

Harry’s cry had ended their kiss, but Draco reckoned it was almost worth it when he looked down at Harry. His lips were parted again and soft, sexy sounds were escaping. His eyes were hooded, the lids heavy with desire. Draco watched as, though his haze of lust, Harry began to realize that Draco was watching him. Harry’s lips twitched into an almost smile, and Draco felt hands working at the buttons of his trousers. Then his cock was revealed, and Harry moved his hands back to Draco’s arse. Harry squeezed the firm cheeks and once more pulled Draco against him. With clothing no longer in the way, the velvety skin of their cocks, rubbing and pulling, seemed to make them grow impossibly harder.

“Feels so good,” Harry breathed, and his hips bucked as he dug his fingers into the soft mounds of Draco’s arse.

Draco couldn’t even verbalize his agreement, but he did bring his hand down between them once more. He closed his hand around their cocks and began to stroke them together. The sensation, so much better in reality than in their fantasies, was too much and, with just a few pulls, they were both coming, warm and sticky, drenching the t-shirt Harry still wore.

Their foreheads pressed together as they gasped for air. Draco lazily stroked his hand along their slick, softening cocks. Harry shuddered and put his hand on Draco’s to stop the torturous movement on his over-sensitized member. “Too much,” he whispered.

Draco chuckled, clearly winded from his recent orgasm, but stopped the movement – though he didn’t remove his hand. Finally, when he felt he could manage talking as well as breathing, he whispered, “Well, this is an interesting development.”

Harry laughed and pulled Draco’s hand away from their cocks, linking their now sticky fingers. Their groins pressed together in messy wetness, but neither seemed to mind. “I think it’s a brilliant development. You aren’t complaining, are you?”

“No. No complaining here.” Draco lifted his head to look down at Harry and found him adorably sleepy and obviously content. Draco smiled. “You’re looking terribly smug, Potter.”

“I’m happy,” Harry said with simple eloquence. Then he yawned. “And sleepy.”

“Me, too,” Draco replied, dropping his head to rest in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I believe I’ll just sleep right here.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily, yawning again.

Draco brought his head up to look at Harry. “Really?” Draco hadn’t really expected that they would stay in the lounge. He had only been expressing his reluctance to leave.

In answer, Harry drew his wand and called out the spell to lock the door. “Do you want to sleep here on the floor, or should we move to the couch?”

Still looking at the door, Draco said, “I suppose we should have done that sooner.”

“Locking the door or… the other?” Harry asked, suddenly a little shy.

Draco smirked. “Definitely ‘the other’ – but I was actually referring to locking the door.”

Harry shrugged. “We were being spontaneous.”

Draco looked at him for a moment, the smirk fading a bit. “Was that what this was? Just… something spontaneous?” Though he tried to keep the question light, the worry in his voice was evident.

Harry brought his hand up to caress Draco’s cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Something spontaneous after seven years of foreplay.”

Draco laughed quietly. “Oh. Is _that_ what we were doing?”

“Well, maybe not the entire time,” Harry admitted. “But… it’s like Ginny said-”

“Ginny?” Draco grimaced, clearly affronted. “You’re going to talk about your girlfriend while our naked, come-soaked bits are all snuggled together?”

Harry chuckled. “Our naked, come-soaked, snuggling bits? I think I like the sound of that.” Arching just a bit against Draco, he added, “Definitely like the feel of it.”

Trying to ignore the way Harry’s comment and movement made his cock twitch, Draco said, “If you’re trying to make me forget that you mentioned your girlfriend, it’s not going to work.”

Harry brought his hand back to Draco’s cock to let him know that the renewed interest had not gone unnoticed. “Oh, I think it’s working a little bit. And she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

“An important distinction, I’ll grant you.” Draco took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heartbeat – despite the fact that Harry’s hand was causing his cock to demand more blood flow _now_. “What are we talking about?”

A wicked chuckle bubbled out of Harry. “Ginny. No – don’t make that face. I was trying to tell you what she said about us.”

Draco’s forehead fell against Harry’s again. “Well, make it quick – or stop fondling my cock.”

“Alright. She said all the past stuff between us is… what has woven us around each other.” Harry waited anxiously for Draco to respond – aware that he’d just put himself in the very vulnerable position of being rejected if Draco was only interested in sex. Finally, Draco lifted his head to look at Harry once more. Harry thought the look in his grey eyes was guarded, but somewhat hopeful.

“I like that,” Draco said quietly. “It describes just how I feel about you.”

Harry eyes grew wide, and he bit at his bottom lip. “Really?”

Draco lowered his head to place a soft kiss on Harry’s lips. He’d intended it to be a quick reassurance, but their lips insisted on lingering, and Draco didn’t resist. The kiss eventually settled into feather-light brushes and gentle nips. Finally, when smiles made kissing impossible, Draco answered Harry’s question. “Absolutely. Always have.”

“Always?” Harry asked, obviously pleased at that thought.

“Yes,” Draco affirmed. “Even when I was sure there was no hope because I thought you were straight. You know – within the last half hour or so?”

The sheepish look returned. “Um, sorry about that. I guess that’s something we need to talk about. Can it wait until morning, though? That might be a long conversation, and I really am tired.”

Draco tried to hide his disappointment. He had thought they might enjoy another round of intimacy when Harry had begun to touch him again. “Alright. So – couch or floor?”

“Couch,” Harry said and, with a little smirk, added, “The floor is dreadfully common, you know.”

oooooooOooooooo

More kisses and intimate touches and sweet words had indeed been exchanged before they’d settled into sleep. Waking up spooned behind Harry had seemed more like the continuation of a dream to Draco. Sleepy morning kisses had reaffirmed the shift in their relationship, and they had lingered as long as they dared, reveling in the excitement of their discoveries of each other.

Not enough time had been left for Harry’s promised discussion of his sexual preference. “I swear we’ll talk about it as soon as we have more time,” he’d told Draco. “For now… can we just keep this between us?”

Draco had agreed; with the need to get back to their dormitories before anyone realized where they’d spent the night, he’d had no other choice. Harry had been extremely affectionate, after all, so Draco tried not to dwell on the implication that he might be ashamed to admit there was something between them.

He’d tried to put that worry aside and focus on helping Professor Slughorn with his morning classes. The professor had passed a rough night and had feared he might not be up to supervising the sixth-years as they brewed.

The class had gone well, with no mishaps. It was toward the end of class that Draco had overheard some Gryffindor girls talking and had tuned in when he heard Harry’s name mentioned with Ginny Weasley’s.

“I don’t know why they’re pretending that they’re not together. She was practically sitting in his lap,” a dark-haired girl, who was doing little of the work, complained to her partner.

“Give it up, Romilda,” said the other girl. “Everyone knows they’re meant to be together. All you have to do is look at them. That kiss was adorable!”

Draco had admonished them to be quiet at that point and had continued to move about the room. His heart, though, had been heavy with confusion and disappointment. What kind of game was Harry playing with him? Was he going to continue to play the heterosexual hero and expect Draco to be his secret on the side?

No, Harry wouldn’t treat anyone like that. Every time the thought that Harry might be using him assailed him, he dismissed it as ridiculous – only to have it return over and over again. By lunchtime, Draco was in a foul mood, his heart raw from aching.

He couldn’t eat, and he didn’t dare look over at the Gryffindor table. Blaise had instantly noticed Draco’s discontent. He filled the space around them with quiet, silly banter, and Draco appreciated that his friend did not press him to find out what was wrong. When Draco decided he had put in enough of an appearance, he pushed away from the table and walked quickly out of the Great Hall.

He hadn’t left with a particular destination in mind, but his feet had automatically led him down the stairs to the dungeons. He considered going to his dorm and pulling the curtains on his bed closed about him. Instead, he turned in the direction of the Potions classroom – and almost ran in to Harry.

“There you are,” Harry said, a happy lilt to his voice. “I’ve been hoping to see you all morning.” Harry leaned close and whispered, “I missed you.”

“I’ve been busy.” Draco stepped around Harry and continued down the corridor. He hated the fact that his stupid heart seemed to leap when Harry fell in beside him.

“Yeah, they were talking about Slughorn at lunch. Said he looks really bad today. He’s lucky to have you to help.” Harry grabbed Draco’s hand as they walked, frustrated that Draco hadn’t touched him or really even looked at him yet.

Draco pulled his hand from Harry’s and turned to face him. “Well, _they_ were talking about you before lunch, and the consensus seemed to be that you and the girl Weasley looked perfect together making out in the Gryffindor common room.”

“Making out??” Harry almost shouted. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Ginny Weasley sitting in your lap and the “adorable” kiss witnessed, apparently, by all of Gryffindor.” Draco spun and turned back toward the Slytherin dorm. Maybe huddled in his bed was where he wanted to be after all. He didn’t get far. Harry grabbed him and pulled him around, pressing him against the wall.

“Draco! I didn’t kiss her!” Harry said emphatically, then ducked his head a bit. “Well, I… I guess I did kiss her. But it was only on the cheek, and we were talking about you!”

“Having a good laugh, no doubt,” Draco spat. Although he could have broken free of Harry’s grasp, he continued to allow Harry to hold him there, desperately wanting to believe his explanation. “Was last night just some joke to amuse you and your girlfriend?”

“No!” Harry insisted. “You can’t really believe that.” He pressed himself against Draco, and snaked his arms between Draco and the wall to encircle his waist. The embrace was not reciprocated, but Harry could feel Draco’s heart thudding furiously against him. They were standing in the middle of the corridor, and though most students were still at lunch, Harry realized they could be discovered at anytime. Then he realized he didn’t care. Lifting his head, he looked up into Draco’s cold, grey eyes and saw hurt in them as well as anger. “We were just talking, Draco. It’s when she told me she thought we – you and me – that we were perfect for each other.”

His resolve to maintain his anger, protect his heart, was slipping. Draco wanted to believe Harry had been just talking to Ginny, but… “And that warranted a kiss?” Despite his rigid posture, Draco knew his voice was giving away his uncertainty.

“I didn’t think about it,” Harry said. “She’s been a really good friend, Draco. And she understands why I need to be with you.”

The knot of hurt and anger unraveled a bit more, and Draco relaxed his posture enough to place his hands lightly on Harry’s arms. Not quite returning the embrace, but no longer standing completely unresponsive in Harry’s arms. “I find it difficult to believe she just accepts it,” Draco said.

Harry smiled slightly. “Well, Ginny’s not completely happy about it, but she’s handled this much better than when she found me kissing her brother.”

Draco’s hands closed vice-like around Harry’s arms. “Ron?!” he exclaimed. “You were kissing the Weasel??”

“No!” Harry assured him, then frowned. “You don’t still call him that, do you?”

Draco ignored the question. “Not George, surely.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “She’s got five brothers, you know.” The look Draco gave him in response made Harry consider that perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say. “But I only kissed one,” Harry hurried to add.

“Which one?” Draco bit out the question.

Harry managed to keep from rolling his eyes again. “Charlie. But that’s not-”

“The dragonologist?” Draco asked, and Harry confirmed it with a nod. After a thoughtful moment, he muttered, “Well, if you’ve got to kiss a Weasley, I suppose it might as well be that one.” Relaxing his grip, Draco slipped his arms around Harry and pulled him close. “Just… no more of that, do you understand?”

Smiling against Draco’s neck, Harry whispered, “Yes. I _do_ understand.” They stood together, finally relaxing into the embrace, until the sound of approaching voices caused Harry to lift his head and peer down the corridor.

Harry had asked him that morning to keep things between the two of them for now, and Draco had not liked how that made him feel. He could sense a new tension in Harry, though he was pleased to note that he didn’t pull away. Deciding quickly, Draco moved Harry gently away from him. When Harry turned to him, a question in his eyes, Draco simply moved past him and said, “Come with me.”

Draco led him to the Potions classroom and locked the door after Harry had entered behind him, still giving him a questioning look. “You said you wanted to keep things between the two of us,” Draco explained, unable to keep the displeasure completely out of his tone. “We can’t do that if you’re hanging all over me in the corridors.”

“I wasn’t hanging all over you,” Harry said, his indignation rising before he realized that, perhaps, Draco was trying to wind him up. “But you didn’t seem to mind it _too_ much,” Harry told him pointedly.

“I don’t mind it at all,” Draco said as he moved toward Harry. “You’re the one who wants to keep things a secret.”

Harry sighed, but he understood now that more was bothering Draco than just the misunderstanding about Ginny. “Let me explain that, please?”

“Yes, please do, Harry.” Draco said. “If you truly believe we’re perfect for each other, why do you want to hide it?”

“I don’t,” Harry said emphatically. “I just… I wanted this to be just ours for a little while,” he explained. “Maybe it won’t happen this time, but after the war… it was just insane the way the papers exposed every little detail about my life, and reporters were after me all the time. It’s why I went to Australia – because I couldn’t take it anymore.” Draco’s arms encircled him and once more he rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, thankful for the comforting gesture. “What if that happens again, and you decide…” Harry hesitated. “What if you decide it’s not worth all the trouble?”

“Harry, look at me,” Draco said quietly, and Harry hesitated only a moment before doing so. The little boy in the robe shop was standing before him once again, and Draco smiled. “You are mine, Harry Potter. I’ve been waiting seven years for you to come to your senses and choose me. No amount of trouble is going to convince me that you’re not worth it.”

Harry’s smile lit the room, and he threw his arms around Draco, kissing him soundly. Draco returned the kiss with enthusiasm and pulled Harry hard against him. Harry’s sharp inhalation broke the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, concerned by the obvious pain on Harry’s face.

“Just a little sore today,” Harry said, grimacing. “Consequences of being flattened by a dangerous Hufflepuff, I reckon.”

“Bastard Hufflepuffs,” Draco muttered. He gentled the embrace, rubbing his hands lightly along Harry’s back and enjoyed the resulting sighs of pleasure. “I have an idea,” he said.

“Hmm?” Draco’s hands were working small wonders on his back, and Harry was certain Draco’s idea would be as brilliant as everything else about him.

“Well, perhaps I should make it a surprise,” Draco said as he began to put something together in his mind. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Something with you,” Harry said, a marked lassitude in his voice.

Draco smiled against Harry’s hair as he bent to place a kiss against the soft locks. “That was easy. I think I’m going to like that about you.”

Harry pulled away and narrowed his eyes at Draco. “I’m not easy, I’ll have you know. Well… except with you.”

“And that’s as it should be.” The door to the Potions classroom rattled, and Draco went to unlock it. They allowed the group of third-year students to enter and then walked together into the corridor. “Meet me in the lounge at eight o’clock.”

“Okay,” Harry said brightly and leaned up to place a quick kiss on Draco’s lips. He laughed at Draco’s look of surprise and ran off down the corridor.

“Gryffindors,” Draco muttered, but his smile belied the exasperation in his voice.

oooooooOooooooo

“You do have brilliant ideas,” Harry said on a sigh. Draco’s hands slipped along his shoulders, the warm scented bath water heightening the delicious feel of the massage.

“A well-established fact,” Draco said smugly. He slipped his arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him closer to place kisses along the back of his neck. He’d discovered that was a very sensitive spot for Harry and was exploiting the knowledge shamelessly. When Harry arched against Draco in response to the kisses, his arse stroked Draco’s cock as he half-floated against him in the bath.

They had met, as planned, in the lounge, and Harry had surprised Draco by linking their hands as they walked past several of their year-mates. They’d overheard Blaise make some remark about ‘practicing’ that had been cut off when Neville had elbowed him in the ribs.

Harry hadn’t asked where they were going, and Draco found the easy trust gratifying. They had chatted lightly as they made their way up the stairs, ignoring the shocked looks of the students they passed. Harry was not, perhaps, as blasé as he pretended. He seemed to use the conversation to distract himself from the fact that, by the time they reached their destination, at least a few students from each house would know that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were a couple. By morning, the whole school would know.

Draco was pleased by Harry’s delighted reaction to the location of their date. The Eighth-year Bath was elegantly appointed, but the reservation system the Eights had devised made it even more appealing. After calling in a few favors, Draco had arranged to have the bath reserved for their use that evening. He’d kept a perfectly straight face when he’d told Harry he thought this would be the best way to work out all of his stiffness.

“So,” Draco breathed, mouthing the words against Harry’s neck, “feeling better?”

In answer, Harry spun his body about and wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders, using the embrace to pull them to each other. The sudsy water helped him to move his body easily against Draco’s, and they both gave little moans of pleasure at the sensation. “Much better,” Harry whispered. “But I think there are some other areas that need your attention.”

Draco watched in fascination as Harry rose in the bath, the water dripping down his toned body. Harry held out his hand and led Draco up the steps and out of the bath. They had earlier spread some towels out and Transfigured them into a kind of pallet. Now Harry pulled Draco down to settle atop him and they immediately began to move against one another in a delicious slide of warm, wet skin.

Their tongues played in imitation of other parts of their bodies. The kisses were deep, claiming. Hands were allowed, encouraged, to caress and stroke every contour they found. Their bodies rocked together, causing every inch of skin to tingle with mounting desire.

Draco ran his hand along the underside of Harry’s thigh, pulling his knee up, then stroked back down toward his arse. He cupped one firm globe and then slipped further in, stroking his hand along the crevice to find Harry’s opening. Harry gasped when Draco’s warm fingers brushed against his hole, his hips bucking reflexively in response. When Harry’s legs fell open in invitation, Draco slipped a finger in, and his own body convulsed in answer to Harry’s encouraging moan. When he felt that Harry was ready for it, Draco added another finger and watched in wonder as arousal transformed Harry’s face. He’d been beautiful before with an innocent sweetness somehow undimmed by all he’d faced in his fight against darkness – but Harry’s appearance now could never be described as innocent. Draco’s cock grew almost painfully harder at the sight of this sexy man fucking himself wantonly on the fingers inside him.

Harry had felt this before – the sensation of another man’s fingers stroking inside him – and he pushed against Draco’s now, seeking that brush against the bundle of nerves that would electrify his body. Ah! There! He cried out and gripped Draco’s arms as he rode the sensation.

“Please, Draco,” Harry gasped. “Want you inside me.”

Draco smiled dangerously. “Careful what you wish for, Harry.” He ignored Harry’s cry of loss as he pulled his fingers away. Harry was given no time to complain as Draco flipped him over onto his stomach. He watched in appreciation as Harry arched his back, lifting his arse in invitation.

They had talked about this as they had luxuriated in the bath. Though he had longed to be penetrated, Harry had never trusted any of his partners enough to take that step. That made the sight of him, knees spreading wider, offering up his hole all the more arousing. Draco moved forward, gripping Harry’s arse and pulling the cheeks apart. Harry’s shudder of anticipation encouraged Draco, but he knew there was something else Harry had never experienced. He bent forward to place open-mouthed, nipping kisses on Harry’s arse and smiled against it at the sound of Harry’s delighted yelp. Then he traced his tongue along the deepest point of the crevice, raking Harry’s hole. Harry stilled momentarily, and then a deep moan broke from him. In answer, Draco flicked his tongue against Harry’s opening, slowly working it inside. When Draco plunged his tongue inside, pushing deeply within, Harry’s breath tore out of him in harsh moans.

Harry thought he might die from this excruciating intimacy, certain his heart would burst – probably at the same moment as his cock. He had expected Draco to plunder him, push into him. Even though they had talked about sex – things they had experienced, things they wanted to – Harry had not expected Draco to rim him. He had assumed it was something they would work up to, perhaps even something that Draco might have to be talked into doing. Apparently not. Draco’s hot tongue lapped at Harry’s hole avidly, then thrust inside: stiff and wet and glorious. His mouth sucked at Harry’s opening torturously, ravishing him. Now Harry could hear Draco’s harsh panting, the warm breath scalding his hole. He’d never felt so hard. Suddenly it was too much. Every pleasurable sensation Harry had ever experienced seemed to crystallize into one perfect moment, and he came, crying out harshly as his orgasm ripped through him.

Draco was kissing the back of his neck again, and Harry slowly became aware of the body pressed against him. He still lay on his stomach, and Draco was stroking his skin, whispering sweet, quiet words. Harry breathed deeply and, as he stretched, felt Draco’s erection hot and hard against his arse. Unbelievably, the sensation cut straight through his post-orgasmic lassitude, and Harry pushed his arse back against Draco’s cock, suddenly desperate to be filled completely. He thought he heard a sound of surprise escape the lips nibbling at his ear, and felt a prod from Draco’s hard-on. He pushed back in answer and spread his legs even further to encourage Draco to increase the intimacy.

Harry’s orgasm had rocked Draco with its intensity. He was certain the man had lost consciousness, and he was undeniably pleased to have been the cause of it. Clearly Harry had recovered and was now pushing desperately against him, demanding to be filled, fucked. When Harry spread his legs, Draco didn’t hesitate to slip an arm under him to pull Harry’s hips up. He dipped his hand into the pot of lubricant at the side of their pallet and quickly had his cock slicked and positioned at Harry’s hole. Their previous activities had loosened Harry beautifully, but Draco was careful as he pressed into him – mindful that Harry had never gone this far before.

Despite his desperation to feel Draco inside him, Harry winced as he was penetrated. Draco stopped once he had slipped past the first ring of muscle and gave Harry time to get used to the sensation. Draco stroked gentle fingers along his skin and brushed light kisses against the side of his throat.

“You were so beautiful when you came, Harry,” Draco whispered. “I want to make you come again.”

Draco’s voice, that low, sexy pitch, pulled at him as it always did, creating that ache deep inside him. Draco’s voice, Draco’s tongue, Draco’s cock. Harry wanted it all. Needed it. He pushed against Draco, bringing the hard, slick cock into his body.

Harry pushed against him, greedily taking his cock. Draco pressed forward, completing the penetration. The feel of Harry’s heat, tight around him, took his breath away. His cock ached, and he sought to assuage it in the most natural way: moving in and out of Harry in deep, powerful strokes. Harry’s hole clutched at Draco’s cock as he pulled out and then plunged back in. Draco’s need grew, and he pumped his hips forward again and again as the ache intensified. He rose onto his knees and pulled Harry’s hips back against him, needing to feel deeper inside his lover. All at once, Harry arched his back and shuddered as another orgasm took him. Harry’s cry was lost under the sound of Draco’s own harsh shout as he came. His release pulsed into Harry, and Draco wondered if it would go on endlessly. Finally, he fell against Harry’s back, and together they dropped to the pallet, blissfully exhausted.

oooooooOooooooo

Sleep had taken them despite their desire to kiss and caress in the aftermath of their love-making. Harry didn’t know how long they’d been sleeping, or when Draco had covered them with another bath sheet that had been thoughtfully Transfigured into a blanket. But now, Harry was awake and watching as the shadows played against his lover’s beautiful face in the lowered lights of the bath.

They lay facing each other, and Harry had moved close enough to feel the breath softly escaping from Draco’s parted lips. He gave into the urge to caress Draco’s cheek and was surprised when his hand was clasped and held. Draco turned his head and placed a soft kiss against the palm of Harry’s hand. Then grey eyes blinked open, and in the muted light, Harry thought they shone almost silver.

Draco woke to find Harry snuggled close. He could sense the warmth of his body and knew Harry must have been watching him. When a hand lightly stroked along his cheek, Draco captured it and kissed the palm. Then he opened his eyes, eager to see his lover lying near. Harry was, in fact, watching him, a soft smile gracing his lips. But then, Harry furrowed his brow and peered very intently into Draco’s eyes. All of a sudden, Harry sat up and grabbed for the clothes he had earlier shed.

Harry reached into the pocket of his jeans and removed the pouch containing his marbles. Draco thought it was an odd time to bring them out, but he knew they meant a great deal to Harry and didn’t think it was worth questioning. Harry settled back onto the pallet and opened the pouch. He spilled the marbles out onto the soft blanket, and the crystal spheres twinkled in the muted light. Harry seemed to hesitate a moment, turning once more to look at Draco. Smiling then, he reached down and picked up the large swirly marble that, until now, had shown no image.

Harry closed his hand over the marble and gave Draco an expectant look. Draco shifted and sat up beside Harry. Clearly, Harry was hoping something would be revealed within the marble’s depths, and he was wordlessly asking Draco to witness it with him. Slowly, Harry opened his hand. The marble was still silver, but now it glowed, incandescent. As they gazed in wonder, the glow coalesced into the form of a white dragon. The creature, finally fully formed, shook out his wings and then turned his wide silver eyes upon Harry and Draco.

They watched together in delight as, for several moments, the dragon preened for them. Finally, he curled up, wrapped his wings around him and settled in as if to sleep. Then he winked at Harry and closed his eyes.

“Good night, Draco,” Harry whispered.

It took a moment for Draco to realize that Harry had been speaking to the image in the marble. His eyes widened as the implication of that settled into his mind. Harry was smiling at him, and Draco suspected a laugh was waiting to bubble forth. “Your marble… the big marble… it’s a white dragon.” He knew he was stating the obvious, but he couldn’t seem to put any other words together.

“Yep,” Harry said happily. “I’m thinking the big marble must be for something that’s fairly important.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “Because size matters, you know.”

Harry’s silly joke brought Draco out of his daze, and he tackled the other young man, pinning him to the pallet. “Of course size matters,” Draco said. “And your big, swirly marble contains a big, white dragon.”

“With silver eyes,” Harry added, smiling gently up at Draco. Reaching up, Harry cradled his lover’s face in his hands and said, “My very own dragon.”

“Yours,” Draco affirmed. “Always.” Harry slipped his hands into Draco’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss. Their lips brushed softly at first, then searched for firmer purchase as the kiss deepened. The sweet, intimate exchange quickened their heartbeats, caused their bodies to shiver with need, and soon they were lost in each other.

On the pallet, not very far away, the white dragon in the swirly silver marble blinked open his eyes and witnessed the kiss, the promise being made between the two young men. The dragon flexed his wings, swished his tail, and reveled in finally achieving his form. It had been a long time coming, and he had been more than a little patient. Finally, Destiny had caught up to these two wizards. The dragon turned again to observe them, and his silver eyes widened – then quickly shut. He shifted around to face the opposite direction. His presence was confirmation of their destined bond. Surely Destiny didn’t require that he witness _everything_.

The End


End file.
